


to all the dicks that worked before

by theonlytraveler



Category: IT (1990), IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sexual Content, Some fluff too, You have to squint, a smidge of angst, best friends since diapers okay, but he's got a handle on it, eddie kaspbrak/mike hanlon - Freeform, eddie still has anxiety, it's not a real thing just...you have to read it, richie and his adhd issues, they are in their mid-thirties, this is the most chill thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:38:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonlytraveler/pseuds/theonlytraveler
Summary: “What?”  Eddie asks, narrowing his eyes as Bill takes his glasses off the table and slides them back on.  “What’s that look?  Why are you making that face?”Shrugging, Bill pulls his manuscript in front of him, flipping through the first few pages.  “It’s nothing.  Just, y-you know.  You two.”“Who?”“You and Richie.”Eddie bristles.  “What about us?”“You’re p-practically m-married.”His immediate reaction is to roll his eyes and protest; it’s not the first time he’s heard this.  Morons have been suggesting they date each other since high school.  Middle school, maybe.  “It’s not like that,” he says, snagging his pen from Bill’s grasp and clipping the cap back on.  “That’s weird.”/ / / /-Or the one where Eddie Kaspbrak is thirty-six years old and his dick doesn’t work anymore.-





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Here is my new fic that I've been teasing on my tumblr. The FWB fic I've been talking about for the past month or so.

When Eddie gets home earlier than he hoped on Friday night, he’s greeted by the smell of cheese lingering in the entryway, the theme song to  _Dog the Bounty Hunter_ blaring from the living room, and his best friend stretched out on the long couch.  The lights are mostly off, just like he left them, but the kitchen is lit up and through the doorway, he can see the source of the cheesy scent.  The sandwich press is sitting on the edge of the counter and the bread is left out, shredded cheese bits littering the once clean space.  

Slipping his shoes off in the hall, Eddie ignores the kitchen for now and heads into the living room, rolling his shoulder as he eyes the feet kicked up on the arm of the couch.  “Move,” he says, stepping in front of the TV, placing his hands on his hips and narrowing his eyes.   

“Oh  _boooooo_ ,” Richie says, grinning wide as he folds his arms behind his head and nudges Eddie’s thigh with his bare toe.  “What happened this time?  Oh!  His dick was too small, right?” 

Without an answer, Eddie bats Richie’s feet out of the way and plops down, exhaling as his back sinks into the soft cushions.  Tension bleeds out of his muscles slowly, and he pats Richie’s leg and says, “Put on  _Queer Eye._ I need to stare at Karamo.”   

Richie is quick to grab the remote off the table.  “Yes sir,” he says, then sets his feet in Eddie’s lap and wiggles his toes.  “Oh  _Karamo_.  Thou art so lovely and comforting.  Eddie pines for thee.”   

“Get your nasty feet off me.”   

“Nope.”   

Eddie groans and pinches the back of Richie’s knee, then laughs when Richie shrieks and sits up on the opposite end of the couch.   

“That wasn’t very nice,” Richie says, pouting.  “Did you pinch your date, too?  Is that why you’re home so early?   _Again_.”  

Ignoring the comment, Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and frowns at the TV.  “Shut up.  I love this episode.”   

They settle into silence, and though Eddie can usually lose himself in any episode, his mind is running circles around the night.  Around Richie’s stupid comment.  It’s only a little before ten, and an hour ago he was under a very attractive man in a big, luxurious bed, lips locked and hips moving together, but there was nothing more to it.  The guy is sweet and nice and handsome, and they had a great time at an art class, laughing at each other’s lack of skill and throwing paint smudges at each other’s work.  They took a walk afterward and held hands and talked about some interesting things.  But as soon as they were in his apartment rolling around in the sheets, and his lips were on Eddie’s neck and his hands were sneaking under Eddie’s shirt, Eddie’s mind began to wander because…well.  Because.   

He just wasn’t into it.   

“So,” Richie says, pulling Eddie out of his mind and back to the screen, where Antoni is swooning over the guy of the week.  “Really- what happened?  Was he an asshole or something?”   

Sighing, Eddie slouches and kicks his feet up beside Richie’s, glaring at his dress socks and the hemmed bottom of his slacks.  “No.  He was nice.”   

“Oookay,” Richie says, drawing out the word as he lifts the remote and lowers the volume.  “Nice guy.  Did he cheap out on you?”   

Eddie snorts.  “No.  He paid for everything.”  

“And you didn’t put out?”  Richie grins, an attempt to ease some of the tension crawling back into Eddie’s skin, and Eddie appreciates it.  “At your age, that’s dating suicide.”   

“At  _our_ age.”   

“You’re still older than me,” Richie chuckles, and Eddie grabs the tiny pillow bunched under his elbow and whacks Richie in the shoulder.  “Hey old man!  You’re staring down the barrel of forty.  Don’t be overexerting yourself.”   

“Oh my  _god_.”  Eddie wraps his arms around the pillow and hugs it close to his chest, glaring at Richie with no heat.  “We’re the same fucking age, you prick.”   

“I’m eighteen at heart.”   

“You’re five at heart.”   

Richie throws his head back and laughs, the dusting of his stubble standing out against his pale, freckly skin, a sight Eddie is used to and finds a sense of comfort in.  “Okay, okay.  So.  He was nice  _and_  he paid.  Is he a Trump supporter?  Does he believe the earth is flat?  Is he aggressive?  Controlling?”    

Eddie rolls his eyes but lists his answers off on his fingers.  “No.  I don’t know.  No.  And no.”   

“Bad kisser?”   

“He’s a pretty good kisser.”   

“Bad breath?”   

Pausing, Eddie contemplates the taste and scent of the man’s mouth.  He tasted like mint and something spicy.  Like cinnamon gum.  “No.  And before you ask- I don’t know how big his dick is cause we didn’t  _do_  anything.”   

“I wasn’t going to ask  _that_.”   

Eddie shoots him a look.  The look he gives Richie at least fourteen times a day, and for the past thirty-something years.  The look that says  _You shitting me?_  and  _The fuck?_  at the same time.  “You asked me the second I walked in if he has a small dick.”   

Richie blazes past Eddie’s words, barreling forward at the same speed he’s been going at since they were in pullups and crawling around on their parents carpets together, racing for toys and attention.  “Okay then what was wrong with the dude?  Was he pushy about sex or something?”   

Irritation flares to life in Eddie’s skin, but he smothers it down.  “No.  It wasn’t anything like that…”  

“What was it?”   

“It was…” Eddie trails off, wondering how to word his thoughts.  It’s a little embarrassing to talk about, of course, but talking to Richie has always been easy.  They’ve been best friends since forever.  He can’t even remember how they met, because according to their parents, they’ve been knocking heads since they were teething and shitting their diapers.   

Richie waits, patient as always, while Eddie gathers his thoughts and pieces them together.  Of the two of them Richie has always been the inherently levelheaded one, while Eddie is chronically prone to panic and worry and a quick temper.  He runs a hand through his messy hair, grown past his ears and curling around his neck, fingers itching with the energy he didn’t burn off earlier.   

Staring down at his lap sadly, betrayed, Eddie sighs and says, “I think it’s broken.”  

Richie bursts out laughing.

Scoffing, Eddie whacks Richie with the pillow again.  “Why the hell are you _laughing_?” 

“It’s funny?” 

“It’s not funny!” 

“Okay, okay.  Sorry.”  Richie holds up his hands in mock surrender, pressing his lips together briefly.  “So you can’t get it up?” 

Rolling his eyes, Eddie hugs the little pillow again, nails fraying at the fragile, lacy edges.  “It’s fine when I’m alone.  But when I’m with someone…” 

Richie nods, understanding.  “System shutdown.” 

“Yeah.” 

It’s quiet for a few moments as Eddie focuses on the screen, his cheeks burning as he bites his lip and thinks.  It started happening months ago, when a date had finally made it to the bedroom, his body failing to respond to the man’s hands on lips on his naked skin.  At the time he thought maybe he was just tired- it had been a long, _exhausting_ week- but it keeps happening.  Every.  Damn.  Time. 

“Maybe you’re stressed?”  Richie supplies, sliding his foot to the left on the table and nodding to the spiral bound papers hiding behind Eddie’s socks.  “I’d be too if I had to butcher that shit.” 

Eddie sighs, gives Richie a halfhearted swat in the chest.  “Don’t call what someone spent hours writing shit.” 

“You’re right,” Richie says as Eddie pushes himself up to retrieve the manuscript.  “Sorry.” 

Flipping the pages open, Eddie unhooks the red pen from his last spot, slipping the cap off and sitting back to read.  “What a night,” he says, squinting at the font under the glow of the floor lamp beside the couch.  “No sex.  Just you and this stupid fucking manuscript.” 

Richie snorts, the couch shifting as he gets up and heads over to the bookcase against the far wall.  “Wow.  You’re gagging for it, aren’t you?” 

“ _Yesssss_.”  Eddie drops his head back dramatically, letting out a long, whiny groan, eyes fixed on a crack in the ceiling.   

Chuckling, Richie steps over to the couch again, stopping right in front of Eddie with a shit-eating grin, unfolding something in his hands.  “How long’s it been?” 

He doesn’t even have to think about it.  “Five months and seventeen days.” 

“ _Woah_.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Jesus.” 

“ _I know_.” 

“We gotta get you laid,” Richie says, hands coming up close to Eddie’s face.  “Here.  You need them, grumpy.” 

Glaring, Eddie takes the reading glasses and slides them on, blinking several times as his eyes adjust.  “Thanks.” 

“Yup.” 

Richie drops back into his spot, feet up on the table again, and pulls his phone out of his pocket.  “Hey, you know that new show I’m working on?  I have a demo.” 

Smiling, Eddie slides over and cranes his neck, watching the little loading icon spin on the dark screen.  A cartoon boy comes to life, smiling, sitting on the front steps of his animated home, blinking several times as he looks around at the vibrant world around him.  There are orange and red leaves on the ground at his feet, a skateboard, and his jeans are ripped at the knees.  He looks a little bit how Richie used to when they were in high school, with clear, bright blue eyes and a mess of dark, shaggy hair, forever in a band shirt and whatever pair of jeans he could find on his messy bedroom floor that morning. 

“He’s a broke-as-shit college student,” Richie says, eyes glued to the figure as the scene shifts and the boy (young man?) is now sitting in a dorm room with a pair of headphones on.  “He starts working at a library that’s the front for a cult.” 

Eddie nods, impressed.  Richie’s shows are usually satires and short comedy skits.  His YouTube channel has a solid two million subscribers and a steady amount of views per episode, somewhere close to a million.  Working as a tech man by day had never fulfilled the need to _create_ something in him, so he started screwing around with animation out of boredom and got hooked.  He posted the first episode of his first show years ago, and the damn channel hasn’t stopped gaining popularity since.  Richie quit working his tech job when he hit one million subscribers, and he’s never been happier.

“Sounds serious,” Eddie says, smiling, then nudges Richie’s shoulder with his.  “You gonna stay over?  I washed the sheets in the guest room.” 

“You mean _my_ room,” Richie grins, grabbing the remote off the table again. 

Eddie chuckles, settling back against the couch again to get comfortable.  “Yeah, sure.” 

 

 

/ / /

 

 

The publishing house is a hidden gem in Napa, close to the river and at the end of Main street, sharing a lot with a Chipotle and shopping strip, but with a view of the water front that can’t be beat.  Though Eddie’s grown used to it, he still appreciates the glint of the water and the fresh scent first thing in the morning, before the food starts coming and the oil starts burning and the air turns to smog and sweat. 

Every morning Eddie heads into the building, checks in with the writers and the other editors, then gets his red pen out and stays huddled in his office for hours.  The others hunch over computers and tablets, highlighting and commenting on their keyboards while Eddie handwrites his notes and uses sticky strips to mark the places he wants to discuss.  He’s always been more of a hands-on person, and editing four hundred page novels every other week hasn’t changed that.

Mid-September always turns the leaves and shrouds the sun, the temperatures dropping wonderfully and the wind starting up and thinning out the trees.  On his days off Eddie drives out to St. Helena or Monterey, enjoys the wharf and the food, the tourist traps and Richie’s endless supply of things to do.  It’s usually the two of them in Richie’s car, arms hanging out the windows as they speed down the highway, singing along to Richie’s endless playlists- and it’s always been that way. 

Today Eddie is across the street from the office, in a café that makes the best banana nut muffins, sitting across from his favorite writer and friend Bill Denbrough.  Saturday meetings are not the norm for him, but his usual time during the week is never long enough to talk over Bill’s latest works.

Where Eddie is slight but average in height, Bill is ragged but tall, with slumped shoulders and receding auburn hair.  Soft spoken but receptive, Bill reads over Eddie’s notes from the night before, some messier than usual from fending off Richie when he tried to steal them and draw little cartoons on the corners.  There are three pages of handwritten bullet points, along with seventeen flagged sections. 

When he’s finished, Bill removes his rimless glasses and frowns, looking up slowly and meeting Eddie’s eyes.  “You didn’t l-like my main character?” 

This is always the hardest part, but Eddie is good at what he does.  He sees a story as it is and pushes for what it can be.  “No, no, I _like_ her,” Eddie says, taking a quick sip of his overly sweetened iced coffee.  The café is a little on the darker side, but they chose a window seat, the warmth of the sun heating the window and Eddie’s cold hands where they rest on the table.  “It’s not about her.  It’s _them_.” 

“Them?” 

Sighing, Eddie slips his own glasses off, sets them down beside Bill’s, the dark frame standing out vividly beside the lifeless pair.  “Why is it so damn hetero?”

Bill blinks, touches the front page delicately, sliding his finger down to the bottom edge.  “What do y-you mean?” 

It’s a thought Eddie usually holds in, especially when Bill hands him a novella to edit, but he can’t keep it in today.  “Why does Charlie end up with Dan when she has so much fucking chemistry with Lynn?  You can’t queerbait your readers like that.  What’s the point of all that intimate shit?” 

“Intimate shit?”  Bill flips open the first page, reads over one of Eddie’s many notes.  “W-What are you t-talking about?”

Listing them off, Eddie jabs his pen against the tabletop, upsetting the remainder of his muffin so it tips over on its side.  “Star gazing.  Cuddling.  Deep, meaningful secrets shared.  Charlie told _Lynn_ about her mom, not Dan.  And I don’t get it?  Dan is such a shit.  Lynn treats Charlie like a queen.” 

Face going red, Bill says, “B-But their b-best friends.  _Just_ friends.” 

“Sure.  Okay.”  Eddie forces himself not to roll his eyes.  “And I’m straight.” 

On the table Eddie’s screen lights up, Richie’s name floating above a picture of Richie with his eyes crossed and his middle fingers up at the camera.  “Cherry Pie” starts to play, and Eddie quickly silences the ringer. 

“Sorry,” Eddie says, finger hovering over decline. 

“No, it’s f-fine.”  Bill pushes himself up.  “I’m getting another coffee.  Go ahead.” 

Bill is gone before Eddie can protest, so he answers, brings the phone to his ear, tone clipped as he says, “I’m in a meeting.”

There’s silence for a moment, then Richie says, “ _Oops_.” 

“Yeah.” 

“ _I’ll make it quick_.”  His voice is a bit staticky, the sound of wind breaking up the line.  He’s probably driving.  “ _We’re going out tonight_.” 

“What?”  Eddie glances over to the line, where Bill is waiting patiently behind a man and two kids, hands in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels.  “Where?  Why?” 

“ _Going out.  Club.  Get drunk and get fucked_.” 

“Ugh.” 

“ _Don’t ugh at my idea.  You need it.  I’ll provide it.”_

Eddie tuts, dragging the manuscript close as he scans the cover page.  “I don’t know.  Sounds like hell.” 

“ _Eds_ ,” Richie whines, voice going high and grainy.  “ _Let me do my job and wingman.”_  

“I don’t know…” 

“ _Please_?” 

“Richie-“ 

“ _Please_.” 

Eddie sighs, defeated.  “Fuck- fine.  Yeah.  Whatever.  Tonight.” 

“ _Yowwwwza_!” 

“What the fuck did I just agree to…” 

“ _Fun_ ,” Richie says, drawing out the F and ending on a tut.  “ _You’ll see.  You’ll get that dicking you need so bad._ ” 

Just as Eddie says, “Shut the fuck up-“ Bill comes back to the table, brows arching up his forehead as he smirks and sits down heavily.

“ _Make me, sugah_.”

Eddie mumbles, “I gotta go,” and ends the call, shrugging apologetically as Bill keeps grinning.  “Sorry.  Richie.” 

Bill nods knowingly.  “Yup.  H-How’s his channel going?” 

There’s always a lot to say about it because Richie is constantly coming out with new episodes, new short series, and promos for upcoming projects.  Half hour is easily lost to gushing about everything, and by the time Eddie realizes he’s been talking forever, Bill is giving him a _look_ , one that Eddie knows well from years of meeting up this way and slowly becoming friends.  And he doesn’t like it.

“What?”  Eddie asks, narrowing his eyes as Bill takes his glasses off the table and slides them back on.  “What’s that look?  Why are you making that face?” 

Shrugging, Bill pulls his manuscript in front of him, flipping through the first few pages.  “It’s nothing.  Just, y-you know.  You two.” 

“Who?” 

“You and Richie.”

Eddie bristles.  “What about us?” 

“You’re p-practically m-married.”

His immediate reaction is to roll his eyes and protest; it’s not the first time he’s heard this.  Morons have been suggesting they date each other since high school.  Middle school, maybe.  “It’s not like that,” he says, snagging his pen from Bill’s grasp and clipping the cap back on.  “That’s weird.” 

“Have you ever _r_ - _really_ thought about it?” 

“No.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

Bill gives him a doubtful look, eyeing Eddie’s phone as the screen lights up with a text from Richie.  “Okay…”

It’s a little awkward after that, so Eddie jumps back into talking about the story, going down his list of points and concerns quickly, sparing no criticisms.  Maybe it’s the itch in his skin, the need he can’t shake that pushes his irritation higher, makes him short with Bill and snappish.  Brushing off comments about his friendship with Richie is usually much easier, but he can feel the thoughts pooling in the back of his mind, settling to stew so he can think about them later.  He’s been shutting people up about them since his teen years, grossed out by insinuations and uncomfortable with suggestions that they hook up and _get it out of their system._

The meeting comes to an end, and Eddie heads on home to get ready for tonight.  As soon as he’s through the front door he drops on the couch face first, snags the remote off the coffee table and puts on _Glow_.  His phone dings with an email notification, a new manuscript to print out and get working on.  Sending it to the printer, he gets a new text from Richie just as the ladies on the TV start dancing to the theme song.

**Richarrrdo Tozi-ay** :  get sexy i’m on my way

Snorting, Eddie types:  I’m already sexy

**Richarrrdo Tozi-ay** :  nahhh i mean put on some jeans not those ugly pro pants

Eddie glances down at himself.  He throws on slacks out of habit, so used to meeting with writers and popping into the office to drop off scripts.  They don’t look _bad_. 

His phone dings again. 

**Richarrrdo Tozi-ay** :  you have a great ass show it

The printer jams so Eddie doesn’t reply, pushing himself up with a groan to whack the old thing a few times.  Glancing over his shoulder and down, he eyes the swell of his ass, reaches one hand behind himself to grab at his cheeks and sigh.  He’s not self-conscious, hasn’t been for a long time, but he can’t deny this dry spell has him wondering, considering that maybe his damn libido is waning, going much sooner than he hoped.  And if that goes, then what the hell’s next?  His hair?  His _skin_? 

Once the manuscript is printed Eddie pushes those annoying (worrying) thoughts away and sits down on the couch again, crossing his legs and flipping through the first few pages, scanning the names and other things that jump out of the paragraphs.  His eyes stray to his dry cuticles, the worn skin surrounding his nail beds, the shallow lines steadily appearing over the pads and knuckles of his fingers.  Shaking his head,  he gets his red pen ready and starts to read, ignores all thoughts of sex and skin and _five-months-eighteen-days_. 

 

 

 

 

The best thing about the club is the bartender, Richie’s friend and all-around Great Guy Mike Hanlon, who can mix a rum and coke like anyone else but drags his nails across the inside of Eddie’s palm when he hands the third one over.  Which is… not like anyone else. 

Maybe Eddie is reading too far into it, and maybe he’s a little bit drunk, but he swears Mike is giving him sex eyes.  Bedroom eyes.  Whatever.  Maybe he’s too fucking horny to see kindness as anything but an invitation.  Mike has gone off to do his job, of course, but he keeps coming back, keeps brushing off the youngsters who fawn over him and throw themselves along the bar, desperate for the attention he keeps giving Eddie.  _Only_ Eddie. 

Richie is… somewhere.  Dancing.  Probably the center of attention and basking in it, letting the rest of the youngsters who aren’t busy falling over themselves for Mike fall over themselves for _him_.  Really, Eddie should have said no.  Even in college he never liked clubbing, bars, drinking- any of it.  It’s always been boring to him.  Uneventful. 

Also, the men?  Or boys, he should say.  Young and just… _young_.  There’s no way in hell he can let any of these kids stick their dick in him.  There’s been a string of baby faces that have hit on him all night, and he’s sent each of them away, eyes fixed on Mike and Mike’s arms, not overly thick, but perfect and fucking gorgeous where they’re straining against his tight, gray henley. 

Okay.  Eddie is pretty drunk. 

“You’re not gonna dance?”  Mike asks over the music, something modern by Halsey or something.  Haley?  Hailsee? 

Shrugging, Eddie takes his fourth drink, giggles as he glances back and spots Richie nearby, dancing between a group of girls who are all laughing at whatever it is he’s saying.  “No,” Eddie says, licking his lips and turning back to Mike, who looks amused and intrigued.  “Nah.  No.  Nope.” 

“No?” 

“ _No_.” 

“That’s too bad,” Mike comments, his bright eyes shiny with the reflection of the lights flashing on the dance floor.  “I want to see you dance.” 

Eddie scoffs, his brain a bit fuzzy and free, words falling out of his mouth that he’s usually not confident enough to say.  “I wanna see _you_ dance.  I bet it’s all, sexy and stuff.” 

Mike laughs, a comforting sound, and Eddie remembers that Mike is single, as Richie shouted at him the second they walked in.  Unattached.  Hates the sexuality labels but is openly interested in anyone he likes.  Which means if he likes Eddie…well.  Maybe. 

A body drapes along Eddie’s back, an arm over his shoulders, and he tries to shrug the limb away as Richie’s voice shouts in his ear.  “Eds!  Eddie.  Eddie come dance with me!  Eddieeee.” 

Dragged off the stool, Eddie follows Richie into the pulsing mass of bodies, grumbling when Richie fits himself behind him and starts to move, encouraging Eddie to follow him with hands on his hips and fingers that curl into the fabric of his jeans.  The alcohol starts to hit him harder then, buzzing in his veins and blurring his thoughts, influencing his hands to reach back and grab on to Richie’s side. 

“How do you like Mike?”  Richie says into his ear, loud and disrupting the flow Eddie’s falling into.  “He’s awesome, right?” 

Eddie hums, nods, and lets his head fall back on to Richie’s shoulder, sweat beading over his brow and down his lower back.  “He’s nice,” he says, simply, his brain drifting away from Mike and to something from earlier in the day.  Some suggestion that takes center post as soon as the lid is cracked open and it bursts free.  “Hey…” 

“So how about it?”  Richie goes on, and Eddie turns around to face him, hands resting on Richie’s arms and clutching him for balance.  “Woah.  How much did you drink?”

Eddie’s feet are unsteady, like jelly, knees wobbly and weak.  “Lots,” he says, clinging when Richie’s arm goes around his waist.  “Um.  Too much.” 

“Time to go home,” Richie says, and Eddie lets Richie lead him off the floor and over to the bar, steps uneven and heavy the entire way.  “Lightweight.” 

“Fuck off,” Eddie quips, and then they’re heading out the entrance and over to the lot across the street, where Richie’s blue Solara is parked in the far corner in a cluster of nice cars and little-dick trucks. 

Richie helps him buckle in and flips on the seat warmer, then Eddie rests his head on the window and closes his eyes as the car backs out of the slim parking spot. 

“My place?”  Richie suggests, and Eddie makes an agreeable sound.  Something like _mehrr_ or _hehh_.  He doesn’t know what the hell comes out of his mouth. 

The drive is short to Richie’s house.  They live on different sides of town, Eddie in the downtown area and Richie up on the hill at the end of 1st Street, on a quiet cul-de-sac with nosy neighbors and a ton of trees.  It’s a one car garage faded yellow home, with a side entrance up a flight of shaky stairs and a heavily shaded backyard.  Eddie loves it. 

“Come on, you little badger,” Richie says, swinging the door open and helping Eddie out of the passenger side. 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie says, but grips Richie’s shoulder as he’s led around the side of the house and toward the stairs.  “You’re gonna make me climb that?” 

Richie grins wickedly.  “Yup.” 

“I hate you.” 

They reach the top, Eddie tripping only once, and then they’re inside and Eddie makes a beeline for the sectional by the large front window, throwing himself down on his stomach and letting the room spin around him. 

The couch dips beside him, the scent of musk and citrusy cologne tickling his nostrils.  Richie’s cologne.  “Hey,” Richie’s voice soothes close to his ear, and Eddie hums appreciatively, his brain zeroing in on Richie’s palm as it rests low on his back.  “Drink some water.  You’re gonna have a hangover.” 

“’m not.” 

Richie chuckles, the sound warm and familiar, and Eddie opens his eyes to peek at the side of Richie’s face, at his long nose and thin lips.  The ceiling fan is spinning lazily above them, a single light bulb alive in the group of three, one of those older round ones, that give off an orange-yellow glow. 

“Wanna watch something?”  Richie asks, and Eddie shakes his head.  “I’m gonna get you some blankets.  Or do you want to sleep in my bed?” 

“Here,” Eddie says, and whines when Richie’s hand moves off him, leaving his skin cold and electric.  “Wait…”

“What’s up?” 

Eddie reaches out, places his hand on Richie’s arm, drags his fingers through the dark hairs there.  “What’s wrong with me?” 

Richie frowns, staring down at him with his glasses shoved up into his hair.  “What do you mean?  Nothing.” 

“Why’s my dick broken?” 

“It’s not.” 

Eddie considers this, then pushes himself up on his elbow, peering up at Richie.  “…are you sure?” 

Laughing, Richie drops his hand on Eddie’s hip, in the exact spot Eddie _loves_ to be touched.  To be grabbed as he’s fucked hard and fast.  And it… it makes Eddie swallow and shift his legs, because Richie doesn’t know what it does to him.  “I mean, I’d have to get up close and personal to know for sure, but I’m guessing you’re fine.” 

Warmth bleeds from the place Richie is touching him, where Eddie’s shirt is bunched above the line of his jeans and Richie’s thumb is brushing his hot skin.  Brushing over his hipbone.  Brushing down, fingernail dipping the tiniest bit under the denim.  Just enough.  Not enough.

Maybe, Eddie thinks, Bill was on to something earlier.  Yeah.  Bill is smart.  Smart and full of really, _really_ good ideas.  “Richie,” Eddie breathes, the sound weird to his ears, out of place with Richie touching him. 

Richie bends down slightly, squeezes his hip.  “Yeah?” 

Eddie misses Richie’s lips, catching the corner of his mouth when he moves in and cups Richie’s cheek in his palm.  Stubble tickles his fingers, makes him groan and push up, up into the taste of Richie and his big, loud mouth, a bit minty and a bit spicy, a lot soft and a lot interesting. 

That hand is still on his hip, so Eddie sits up completely, unstable on the edge of the couch, and swings his leg over Richie’s lap, settles over his thighs and dives in to kiss him fully.  He thinks Richie sighs, or moans- he’s not sure.  His head is starting to spin, and his blood is all rushing through him, but he likes the way Richie’s fingers are digging into his jeans, the way Richie’s mouth is moving with him, tasting him, tongue flicking over his lips… until it stops. 

“Okay, no,” Richie laughs as he pulls away, speaking low and breathless between them.  “ _Really_ bad idea.  You’re way drunk.”   

“Rich,” Eddie says, and then buries his face in Richie’s neck, kisses hot and flushed skin as he pushes his hips down, eager but slow.  “’m tired.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m horny.” 

Snorting, Richie moves and helps Eddie spread out on the couch again, calm.  Patient.  “I’m making fun of you for this tomorrow.  You know that, right?” 

“You’re mean.” 

“I know.  I’m horrible.”

“’m not drunk…” 

Richie chuckles, pats his shoulder and lifts away.  “You are totally fucked up.”

And Eddie must be, because his lids grow heavy with sleep suddenly, and then Richie melts away as darkness takes over. 

 

 

/ / / /

 

 

The headache hits hard when Eddie blinks and wakes, warm and sweaty under a pile of thick, colorful blankets.  The cushions under him are scratchy, gray like the sky fluttering in through the cracked blinds, and the ceiling fan is on and spinning slow above him. 

Eddie sticks his tongue out, nearly gags at the dry and dirty taste in his mouth, and then he shoves the blankets off him all once, sighing as the cool air in the room hits his bare legs.  The scent of fried eggs and bacon lingers in the air, coming from the kitchen, where the light is on and the dishwasher is whirring loudly. 

Sitting up, Eddie grabs his phone off the coffee table, where his keys and belt are set on the edge, next to a cool bottle of water and two aspirin.  He takes them gratefully, sighing when he swallows down a mouthful of cold liquid and unlocks his screen to check for messages. 

There’s an email from Bill about the manuscript revisions, a text from his mom and one from an unknown number.  He doesn’t check those, just scans the email from Bill and marks it as unread, so he can go through it later when his brain gets moving faster and he can think clearly. 

Getting to his feet, Eddie heads for the kitchen, squinting when he steps inside and spots Richie at the table shoved in the corner of the small space.  He’s got his tablet and laptop out, brows scrunched in concentration as he moves a stylus over the screen on the tablet, then switches to a drawing pad linked by a USB. 

Eddie trudges over to the fridge, yawning as he pulls it open and looks inside, eyes going to the pulp-free orange juice. 

“Good morning, Handsy,” Richie says, and Eddie glances over to find him grinning wide.  Too wide.  “You got a headache?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie replies, sniffing at the pans sitting on the stove, one with scrambled eggs and the other with three strips of bacon.  “Thanks for the meds.” 

“Yup.” 

Filling a plate with eggs and a glass with orange juice, Eddie grabs a fork and drops into the chair opposite Richie, bare feet skimming the floor as he stretches his toes and huffs.  The eggs are already making his stomach turn, the orange juice the only beacon of light in his hazy mind. 

“Fuck,” Eddie mumbles, resting his temple in his hands as his head begins to throb.  “Fuck alcohol.” 

Richie sniggers, not taking his eyes off the screen as he says, “Bad alcohol.” 

“Ugh.” 

“Boooooo.” 

“I didn’t embarrass myself last night, did I?  At the club.”  Eddie takes a careful sip of his juice, swallowing a bigger mouthful when the tarty sweetness washes over his tongue.  

Humming, Richie’s eyes flick to his briefly.  “Not at the club.” 

The night before is not a complete blur, but there are parts that feel lost or buried.  This is one reason why Eddie doesn’t care to drink.  Not only is he a lightweight, but he’s prone to hardcore hangovers and doing stupid things.  He recalls heading inside, sitting at the bar and drinking while he talked to the incredibly attractive bartender.  Richie’s friend.  Mitch or Mel or something. 

“What do you mean?”  Eddie asks, wondering if he should go check his phone for that message from the unknown number.  “Did I meet someone?  I remember someone.” 

Richie nods, pushes his glasses up into his hair as he sits back and stretches his arms over his head.  “Yeah.  My friend Mike.  He thinks you’re cute.” 

“Cute?” 

Grinning, Richie shrugs and rolls his shoulder, then pops his elbow and sighs.  “Yeah.  Like a little badger.” 

Glaring, Eddie flicks a bit of egg over the top of the laptop, and it lands on the front of Richie’s shirt, right over John Lennon’s faded face.  “Quit calling me that.” 

“Can I call you Handsy, then?” 

“ _Handsy_?  Why?” 

 Richie scoffs, grasping his chest and heaving a deep, offended breath, voice mocking.  “You mean you don’t remember?  How can you toss me aside like _trash_?” 

“…What are you talking about?” 

Sighing, Richie shakes his head and focuses on his work again, then says, “I should’ve known you’re a ‘hit it and quit it’ guy.  And to think I made you breakfast.” 

“What…” and as Eddie’s about to ask Richie _again_ what he’s talking about, he suddenly _remembers_.  Richie’s lips and his hair, his prickly stubble scratching over his palms as Eddie attacked his mouth and climbed over him.  The taste of spice and the citrus scent, burning in his nose and on his tongue as he crossed the line.  “Shit.” 

“ _Ohhh_.  He remembers.” 

“Fuck.” 

“No, we didn’t do that.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Richie smiles and brushes Eddie’s words aside.  “It’s fine.  I don’t blame you.  I’m a _snack_ , as the kids say.” 

A hot wave of shame burns in Eddie’s chest, and he ducks his head as his cheeks flood with heat.  “Fuck.  Why did I do that?  I’m so fucking stupid.” 

“It’s fine, Eds.” 

“It’s _not_.” 

“Really, it’s- where are you going?” 

Eddie gets up and leaves the kitchen, head down as he hurries down the hall and toward Richie’s room.  “I’m drowning myself,” he calls back to the kitchen, pushing the door open and stepping inside.  “You can have all my things.” 

“Whoop!” 

He doesn’t lock the door to the room, but he does lock the one for the master bathroom after gathering a change of clothes from the bottom drawer of Richie’s tall, walnut dresser he’s taken over.  Fucking hell.  What is _wrong_ with him? 

He strips and steps in the shower, standing under the hot spray with his head tipped back and his eyes closed, wondering just when in the hell his brain decided it was a good idea to kiss his best friend.  _Best Friend_.  Forever.  BFFL.  It must have been what Bill said to him yesterday, mixed with his ugly feelings and the damn alcohol. 

A while goes by, long enough for the water to lose its hot edge and for the glass doors to completely fog over.  It’s time to get out, so Eddie does, toweling off quickly and stealing one of Richie’s spare Sonicare brushes to scrub the shit taste out of his mouth.  By the time he’s done, all flushed from the heat with pruny fingers and toes, the embarrassment is mostly gone. 

Mostly. 

“You done hiding, Handsy?”  Richie greets him when he steps in to the living room, spread out on the couch with his laptop put away but a stylus still moving over his tablet screen. 

Eddie sits down beside him, the base creaking under his weight, not too close but not far enough to make things _weird_.  Or weirder.  “I wasn’t _hiding_.” 

Richie looks up, his glasses shoved up into his dark shaggy hair, and he chuckles as he sets his tablet on the table.  “You were.” 

“ _No_.” 

“Y _es_.” 

Eddie huffs, crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back, settling comfortably on the couch, pulling his feet up and crossing his legs.  “I can’t believe I did that.” 

“It was pretty sexy.” 

“ _Rich_.” 

Richie shrugs, brings his foot up and nudges Eddie’s thigh.  “It was.  You were pretty into it, too.” 

This makes Eddie pause and peer over at Richie, raising a doubtful brow.  “What do you mean?” 

“I _mean_ ,” Richie begins, stretching forward and grabbing the fire remote off the table.  “The mast thus risen, and the dick regained strength.” 

“Wait.  _Really_?” 

Richie nods, grinning.  “Oh yeah.  You were making all kinds of noise.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“You didn’t get to that one.” 

Eddie’s face burns again, and though relief floods him, confusion isn’t too far behind.  “Wait.  Why did it work?  What the fuck?” 

“Because I’m hot?” 

“No, I mean,” Eddie pauses, glares down at his lap before looking at Richie again.  “Why with _you_?  That doesn’t make any sense.” 

The TV comes to life and Richie starts scanning through Netflix, his eyes flitting over titles quickly, squinting until he shoves his glasses back in place.  “Cause we’re friends?  I don’t know.  Maybe that’s what you need.”

The words sink in to Eddie’s mind, and he gets distracted by the intro to _One Day at a Time_ for a few minutes, turning the thought over, looking at it from different angles.  “You think I need to fuck a friend?” 

Richie doesn’t answer for a few moments, then he says, “Maybe you’re one of those new things.  Like, Pansexual.  Or something.  The one where you can only bone a friend.” 

“…Demisexual?” 

“Yeah!  That one.” 

 Eddie doubts it.  Like, _really_ doubts it.  But there’s no other explanation.  Richie is a great looking guy, is charming and what not, but Eddie’s never been attracted to him.  Not even when the lights all went on in his body and he started noticing boys and their stupid broadening shoulders and chests.  “Maybe.” 

Waggling his brows, Richie grabs his tablet off the table again.  “I’ll offer my services.  I’m right here if ya wanna go at it again.” 

“What?  No.  _No_.” 

Richie doesn’t bother hiding his wide smile.  “You liked it last night.” 

“Somehow I don’t believe that.” 

“You totally did!” 

“ _Gross_.” 

Laughing, Richie nudges Eddie’s thigh again.  “You don’t remember, but you were grinding and moaning like,” his voice goes higher and breathy, “‘ _ohhhh Richie, yessss touch me ohhhhhh_ ’.” 

Eddie grabs the closest pillow and smacks it across Richie’s face.  “I did not!” 

Richie cackles, throws his arms up over his head when Eddie moves to hit him again.  “You did!  You’re so into me!” 

The weirdness passes by quickly.  Eddie forces away all thoughts of the kiss and his dysfunctional dick, and they spend the rest of the day squished together on the couch, arguing over what to watch and stuffing themselves with junkfood. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! So I haven't had a chance to reply to the comments but thank you so much for them! I'm blown away by the response to this fic! So here is chapter two and I hope you guys like it!

The unknown number turns out to be Mike Hanlon from the bar.  Eddie discovers this on Sunday evening when he finally looks at the text, flattered to find that Mike wants to hang out and get to know him better.  He responds, and then the talking doesn’t stop, even as the week begins, busy and hectic and Eddie drowns in work and meetings. 

Two new manuscripts pop up in his email on Tuesday, along with an angry reply from an author who doesn’t agree with Eddie’s edits that were sent back to him a few weeks ago.  It’s the worst part of the job.  He loves getting to read many great novels and talking them over with the writers, but sometimes they’re just so damn _sensitive_ , even when he’s being as kind and straightforward as he can be.  It’s why Bill is his favorite, because he always takes what Eddie has to say seriously, never accuses him of being judgmental or biased, or any of the other colorful things the other writers call him.   

The texting with Mike helps Eddie stay sane throughout the busy week, and Richie’s endless teasing tops it all off as normal.  Well, as normal as things can be.  Mike is easy to talk to, a perfect flirt, and he’s smart, cares about important things, and has solid opinions that Eddie respects.  They make plans to go see a movie, and it’s simple.  Easy.  No pressure to call it a date or fall into any expectations. 

“Wear the blue one,” Richie suggests on Friday evening, from where he’s spread out on the bed, phone hovering in front of his eyes as he plays a loud game with guns and screaming.  “Makes your skin glow.” 

It’s a few minutes after six, and Eddie’s meeting Mike at seven at the theater.  Sometimes he hates seeing movies on these nights because the theater is usually super crowded, but he’s looking forward to it nonetheless. 

Eddie shuffles through his closet, takes down the baby blue polo Richie is talking about, and holds it up to his bare torso.  “Glow…?”  he doesn’t get it.  He must be the only gay man who doesn’t know what that means.  “I don’t understand.” 

Richie sets his phone aside and pushes himself up, groaning as his weight shifts to his feet and he stands behind Eddie.  “Look,” he says, turning Eddie around by the shoulders, hands dry and warm against Eddie’s skin.  “Put it on.” 

Eddie does, slipping the shirt over his head and shoving his arms through the short sleeves.  He rolls it all the way down, then looks up at Richie.  “Okay.  What?  It’s a shirt.” 

“It goes with your skin tone.” 

“How?” 

Smiling, Richie turns Eddie back toward the mirror, where he’s been fussing with his hair and his jeans for the past half hour.  “You’re a little tan, and the shirt is light.  See?  And blue goes with your eyes.” 

Looking at himself, Eddie can… kinda see what Richie means, and he grins, knocks his elbow lightly into Richie’s ribs.  “How’d you learn this?  All you wear is black and weird shit.” 

“ _Queer Eye_.” 

Eddie snorts, then sits down on the bed to put on some socks.  “Figures.” 

There’s a quiet moment, where Eddie is choosing between a pair of gray and white slip ons, and Richie comes over to sit down beside him.  Their thighs brush, and just as it has several times over the week, the memory of kissing Richie floods his mind, unwelcome.  It gets clearer and clearer, his senses recalling the scent of Richie’s skin, and the taste of his mouth, the strange other-worldliness of sitting in Richie’s lap and touching him _that_ way.  And, though he’s definitely _not_ considering it, he can’t get Richie _offering his services_ out of his head, so casually and carelessly, like he didn’t drop a weight in Eddie’s mind that won’t go away. 

It was a joke.  It’s… not a real offer.  At all.  No. 

About twenty minutes later Eddie’s heading out the door, keys and phone and wallet in hand.   Richie calls after him, “Get it, little badger!” and Eddie flips him off, tells him to lock up if he takes off early. 

 

 

 

 

At dinner after the movie Mike places his hand on Eddie’s, on top of the table beside their plates of fettucine and tall glasses of wine.  Eddie smiles, turns his own over so their palms are touching, watching heat flicker in Mike’s eyes; his stomach tightens, and his thighs squeeze together tight under the table. 

They’ve been talking for a while, about Eddie’s work and Mike’s life outside of bartending.  And he’s so much of what Eddie likes in a man, what he’s always looking for on the endless string of dates.  Not only has Richie been talking him up all week, when he’s not teasing, but Eddie just gets such a good vibe from him. 

They take a walk downtown, Mike taking Eddie’s fingers in his as they stroll over the river, where the shops end, and the neighborhoods begin.  He’s listening as Mike tells him all about his farm just outside of the city, passed down to him by his parents and grandparents, once used for dairy products and now a sanctuary for strays.   

“It’s a pretty big pack.  I’ve got sixteen dogs now.” 

“ _Sixteen_?”  Eddie asks, smiling as they turn and head down a quiet, well-lit street, lined with flowerbeds and short, dark wood fences.  “That’s… wow.” 

Mike nods, swinging their arms back and forth between them.  “Yeah, it’s awesome.  But my last relationship didn’t work out because of it.”  Eddie watches him for a moment, to catch any signs of lingering baggage from this past relationship, but Mike doesn’t seem upset about it at all.  “It’s good it didn’t, though.  He wasn’t an animal lover like me.” 

Eddie frowns.  “I don’t have a pet right now, but who doesn’t like dogs?” 

“Right?  They’re so loveable.” 

“I want a big one.” 

Chuckling, Mike slows his steps, squeezing Eddie’s hand gently.  “I can see you with a Great Dane.” 

“That’s the one I want!” 

Mike’s laugh is so full and deep, something Eddie wouldn’t mind listening to for a very long time to come.  “So,” Mike begins after a short pause, and Eddie turns to him to show he’s listening.  “Can I ask about your romantic past?” 

“There’s not a lot to tell,” Eddie says, and it’s true.  “I’ve had some boyfriends.  A couple in college and a few after.  But they always break up with me.” 

“Why?  I mean, if you don’t mind sharing.” 

“No, I don’t mind.”  The street comes to an end, and in silent agreement they turn around and head back, Mike’s hand reaching for Eddie’s again.  “It’s because of Richie.” 

“Richie?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and then decides it can’t hurt to go on.  “Guys always think that we’re, you know, hot for each other or something.  I guess it’s weird for two not straight dudes to be best friends their whole lives and not fuck each other.” 

“Wow.” 

Eddie tells Mike about a few guys he’s dated, how they always argued about Richie letting himself into Eddie’s house, Richie crashing at Eddie’s place in the guest room or even in his bed.  His last boyfriend, a man he dated for years and who he thought embraced his friendship with Richie, was the most disappointing of them all.  The relationship went down in a fight, because Eddie and Richie took off on a camping trip they had planned on their own, just to get away from everything.  It’s exhausting dealing with jealous idiots constantly, always worrying when it’s going to end, or when the guy is going to call it all quits because of a friendship no man will ever come between.  And though Eddie’s desperately craving sex, he hates to admit that he wants a relationship again. 

He doesn’t tell Mike all of this, but what he does say must come across as normal enough.  As Mike nods, understanding, it’s easy to see this turning into _something_.  Eddie’s chest leaps at the thought, his memory recalling the steady comfort of a man’s arms around him, holding his waist or wrapping around his shoulders, stubble or beard tickling his lips as they kiss and talk quietly, intimately.  By the time they’re back at the parking lot across the street from the theater, he’s buzzing with anxious energy, stomach swooping each time Mike’s thumb slides across the inside of his palm.  They share secret grins, steps languid, dragging as they approach their cars. 

Mike hovers, eyes taking Eddie in, then he boldly steps forward and cups Eddie’s cheek, thumbing at his chin as he leans in.  “Do you want to see my dogs?” 

Eddie nods, licking his lips as Mike smiles slow and confident.  “Yeah, um.  Yeah.  I’ll follow you.” 

The drive is peaceful and the streets are mostly empty, past Alston Park on Dry Creek Road, up into the hill and off a side dirt road lined with trees and gravel.  It’s dark, but it’s always dark out here.  Richie’s parents live in the area, about a mile or so away, so Eddie is used to the sudden dips and twists while driving in the pitch black of the hidden pavement.  Mike’s house comes into view, a fence running off the side and far into the dark, a barn barely visible off to the left.  It’s small but homely, and Eddie is immediately taken with the charm of the property. 

The second he steps out of the car he hears a chorus of barks and whines, and his crotch is assaulted by six different wet snouts, all trying to say hello at the same time.  “Hi, guys,” he says, patting the nearest head, which belongs to a white mutt with a black patch on its nose and happy blue eyes.  “Aren’t you all cute.” 

Mike calls them off, gently, and they obediently fall back, allowing Eddie to take Mike’s hand as he’s led up the sturdy wooden steps.  “They’re ridiculously friendly,” Mike says, pulling the screen door open and sliding the key into the lock.  “I don’t think they’d do very well if someone broke in.  They’d probably lick them to death.” 

Eddie laughs at this, stepping inside as Mike stands back to let him in first, glancing around as the light flicks on to reveal a short entryway that leads right into the living room.  It’s simple, clean, smells like air fresheners and not a bit like dog, with pictures on the walls of what must be Mike’s family and a basket full of dog toys wedged in the corner.  It’s warm and welcoming, and Eddie’s shoulders relax as Mike steps around him, gesturing to the living room and asking him if he wants something to drink. 

Shaking his head, Eddie smiles, says, “It’s a nice place,” as Mike steps into his space with a gleam in his eyes.  “I like it.” 

“Thanks,” Mike says, and he reaches out, hands hovering by Eddie’s waist, a silent question of _Is this okay?_ Eddie nods, sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as Mike dips his head, and then they’re kissing. 

Eddie sinks into it, winds his arms around Mike’s neck, hums when Mike grips his shirt and tugs him close, hands huge and hot through the thin material.  Their hips press together, Mike’s palm sliding back, splaying over the small of Eddie’s back, bringing them even closer together with a firm pull.  Eddie inhales, feeling so small wrapped up in Mike’s hold, breathing faster as Mike leaves his mouth to kiss his way over Eddie’s neck. 

Maybe Eddie is pushy, but he can’t hold it all in as he clings to Mike’s back, lips moving harder and faster, wetter, Mike’s thigh pressing between his knees and right up against him.  Eddie sighs, grinds down against the muscle, whining when his dick twitches in his jeans and _thank fucking god it does._   

Mike leads him to the bedroom, never pulling away from the kiss as they fall onto the bed and shove at each other’s clothes.  And Eddie’s insides are rejoicing, heat licking up his spine when Mike is on top of him, sliding between his legs, sucking kisses all over his collarbones and his chest, moving up toward his jaw and the hollow of his throat. 

And it’s going well.  _Really_ well.  Mike is hard and huge against the inside of Eddie’s thigh, and the promise of having that cock inside him has Eddie moaning, pulling, grinding up desperately, hoping that his stupid body doesn’t fail him or give up or whatever the fuck the problem is.  But he can feel it happening even as he thinks it, skin cooling and blood leaving his cock, and the damn thing falls flat and useless in his jeans.  Pathetic. 

Mike notices, pulling back and raising a brow at Eddie in question.  “Um… did I do something you don’t like?” 

Eddie groans, considers if he can get away with smothering himself with a pillow.  “No.  No, it’s not you.  It’s me.” 

“…It’s you?”

Hiding his face, Eddie says through his hands, “Yes, it’s me.  I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”

“Oh…oh!  Is it something medical, maybe?” 

As Mike rolls off him Eddie sighs and sits up, crossing his legs and glaring down at his lap.  “I don’t know.  This is so fucking embarrassing.  I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Mike insists, propping himself up on his elbow and looking up at Eddie earnestly.  “You wanna talk about it?  It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

Maybe Mike is too good of a guy, because Eddie does spill everything about it.  How it started happening randomly in the beginning of the year, how the only time he comes anymore is when he’s jerking off in the shower or watching some in-depth porn video.  How he’s never been so needy for sex before but now it’s all he can think about.  And it’s all so damn frustrating, because here he is, with this great guy, who is hot and handsome and who isn’t being pushy about sex, and his stupid Dick.  Won’t.  Cooperate. 

“What is wrong with you?” he says, gesturing to his lap.  “Do you see this guy?  How much hotter can they get?  Are we still gay down there, or what?” 

Mike laughs, and he seems so unbothered by the turn of the night, rolling with what’s happened so effortlessly.  What a wonderful fucking guy.  “Hey, you know, maybe it’s something psychological?  You mentioned wanting a relationship earlier, so maybe your body is not on board for something casual?” 

It’s a good theory, but it doesn’t explain how his body reacted with Richie.  “Yeah, maybe.”   

Rolling off the bed, Mike grabs his shirt off the floor and pulls it back on, then jerks his head toward the open door and the hall.  “You wanna binge watch something?  We can keep chatting and I’ll make some popcorn.  I hear _Glow_ is pretty good.” 

Eddie pauses, prepared to take off and leave this awkward night behind, but then Mike grins, showing all his beautiful, straight teeth, and Eddie is off the bed and looking for his shirt within seconds.  “I fucking love that show.” 

It’s the weirdest end to a date, but a start to what Eddie hopes becomes a good friendship. 

 

 

/ / /

 

 

Eddie blames the hot water.  Mostly.  Okay, no- he blames his stupid brain, too.  Because since he woke up about half-hour ago all it’s done is flash that stupid drunken kiss at him on repeat, complete with the sudden memory of Richie’s hot breath on his neck and his hand on Eddie’s hip. 

His cock is hard and slick in his palm, his elbow braced against the shower wall as he strips himself quick and tight.  As much as he tries to think of anything other than Richie, his body clings to the images, flaring to life at the thought of doing it again.  Seating himself in Richie’s lap and kissing him stupid.  Tugging on all that hair and biting along the pale line of his throat-

Breathing heavily, Eddie lets out a moan and thrusts, fingers curling over the tile as his eyes flutter shut.  He can’t stop now.  And it’s just so damn stupid, because he’s _not_ attracted to Richie.  At all.  Never has been and never will be.  It’s just his stupid body clutching to the hope of getting some, to what worked before and what can provide what he needs so badly. 

“Hey!”  comes Richie’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door, followed by a series of obnoxious knocks that are probably supposed to be a song.  “Handsy!  Quit jerking off to me and get out here!” 

Eddie sighs, shouts back, “Fuck off!” and then the blood leaves his dick sad and lifeless.  Might as well get out now.  It’s not like he’s going to come any time today. 

He towels off, steps into a pair of gray lounge shorts and tugs on a dark tee.  It’s a lazy Saturday, no meetings scheduled and only one manuscript left to edit.  There’s probably more in his email by now, but he’s been slacking off checking them the last few days.  And besides, it’s not like he can get any work done with Richie here anyway.  It’s best to just enjoy his day off.  His sex-less, orgasm-less, blue-balls day off.  Just like all the days before it. 

In the living room Richie is spread out on the couch, socked foot jiggling where it’s hanging off the edge, tablet propped up on his chest as he draws with his stylus.  He’s wearing a band shirt and ripped jeans, his hair a floppy mess across his forehead, eyes bright and happy when he looks over at Eddie. 

“So,” Richie says, sitting up excitedly.  “How’d it go?  If you didn’t get it up with Mike, then it’s time to go to the doctor.  That man is sexy wrapped in delicious, with a dash of _daddy_.” 

Eddie makes a face, moving closer to the couch and hovering as he stands.  “Please don’t say daddy in a sexy way.”

“Why not?” 

“It’s weird!” 

“You know you wanna call me daddy.” 

Shaking his head, Eddie sits down with a grimace, knocking his elbow into Richie’s side.  “Shut up.  That’s fucking weird.” 

Richie just grins, then grabs Eddie’s arm and shakes him.  “So?  What happened?” 

Face burning, Eddie’s gaze drops to the ground.  “We didn’t.  I… I couldn’t.” 

It’s quiet, but only for a moment, as it always is with Richie.  “Sorry, Spagheds,” Richie tells him, arm going around Eddie’s shoulders and resting there, a solid, comforting weight.  “You know, I was joking before, but maybe you should go to the doctor.  Just to make sure everything’s fine, yeah?” 

Eddie shrugs, making a face.  He hates going to the doctor.  “Maybe.  I don’t know.  I was fine last time I went.” 

“It’s worth checking.” 

Eddie can’t argue with that.  “You’re right.”

Richie chuckles close to his ear, squeezing Eddie’s shoulder as he says, “And I’m right here, if ya wanna hop on and give it another go.” 

Richie’s joking.  He’s got to be.  But Eddie’s body is doing the thinking and decision-making right now, keyed up and curious, heat lingering in his skin from the shower and the night before with Mike.  And even as a voice in his mind tells him not to, throws up a red flag and tries to pump the brakes, he turns and looks at Richie steadily, studies the dip of his top lip and the shadowy stubble along the line of his jaw.  Imagines Richie’s body on top of him, or behind him, holding on to Eddie’s waist and fucking into him hard.  Would it be so bad?  So _weird_? 

And before his brain can take the reins again and stop him, words leave his mouth and he blurts, “How would we?  If we did.”

“What?”  Richie asks, turning to him with a raised brow, lips curling into a slow smirk.  “How would we… _what_?” 

“It’s not a real offer is it?”  Eddie sighs, buries his hot face in his palms, elbows resting on his knees.  “Of course it isn’t.  Fuck.  I’m sorry.” 

“No, don’t be sorry,” Richie says hurriedly, leaving his arm on Eddie’s shoulders, scooting close enough for their legs to touch.  “It’s just… I was half-joking.” 

Half-joking.  “So…half-serious?” 

Richie nods, shrugs and sets his tablet down on the table.  “Well, yeah.  But if you really want to, why not?”  

“Because it’s stupid?”  Eddie reasons, frowning down at the hardwood floor and his bare toes.  “Because this shit ruins friendships.”   

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Richie says, then, “And we’ve been friends too fucking long for anything to ruin us.” 

Maybe Richie is right.  They’ve been friends through so much shit, have stayed close even as everyone around them drifted away.  Richie was there while Eddie broke away from his mom, when Eddie figured his shit out and got a hold on his crippling anxiety.  And Eddie held Richie’s hand through his trouble with ADHD, through the doctors who thought he was full of shit to the teachers in school who never gave him the benefit of the doubt.  They’ve done… _everything_ together. 

“But it’d be weird, right?”  Eddie says, a little frantic, squeezing the hem of his shorts between his fingers.  “Wasn’t it weird?  Last week.” 

“No,” Richie says, shaking his head.  “You were into it.  _I_ was into it.  Definitely not weird.” 

Eddie peers at Richie openly, searches for any trace of bullshit. “ _Really_?” 

But Richie’s eyes are honest, and his smile is real.  “Really.” 

Eddie gets to his feet, needing space and breathing room to think clearly, because his body is jumping onboard with this idea.  Too fast.  “So, why isn’t it weird?   It should be.” 

Richie licks his lips, the movement so fucking distracting that Eddie almost doesn’t catch what he says next.  “It’s not the first time we kissed.  Remember in middle school, when everyone was sucking face and getting felt up in the bathrooms?” 

“…Kinda?” 

Getting to his feet, Richie moves toward him with slow steps.  “You were grossed out because you didn’t want to kiss a girl,” he says, and Eddie leans back against the arm of the couch, listening.  “You were all ‘ _Eww Richie, girls are nasty!  I don’t wanna kiss one.  Do I have to kiss one?  Ughhh._ ’”

The memory comes to Eddie then, and he giggles at the image of his old self, small and skinny and serious, sporting a frown no twelve-year-old should have.  “Right.  Yeah.  And you kissed me.” 

Richie nods, standing right in front of Eddie now, hands shoved in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels.  “Yu- _p_.  A big wet one.  You loved it.” 

It’s true.  Richie had grabbed his face between his sticky, sweaty hands, and smashed their lips together quickly, then burped in Eddie’s face when he pulled away.  Before the burp it was great, new, and Eddie was a little bit over the moon for Richie for all of twenty minutes.  Until the idiot made a dumb joke about something gross, and Eddie’s brief crush had gone out like a candle. 

He had forgotten about that. 

“We could try kissing,” Richie suggests, lifting his shoulders and rolling them back.  “Or not.  Whatever you want, Eds.” 

Whatever he wants. 

It’s his stupid fucking libido that has the final word, leaping at this way out of the dry spell, and the broken dick fiasco.  “Okay…” Eddie glances down at Richie’s lips, wondering.  Eager.  A little worried.  “Okay.  Yeah.  Lets do that.” 

“And if it’s weird or you’re not into it,” Richie says, stepping closer, his hands coming up and landing on Eddie’s shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles into his sore, tired muscles.  “We’ll stop.  We’ll laugh it off.”  Richie shrugs, carelessly.  “No big deal.”  

“Yeah.  No big deal.”   

Eddie waits, staring up into Richie’s blue-blue eyes, at the little scar above his eyebrow he got when they were seven and playing on the jungle gym, when he fell off the top and knocked into the gravel beneath them.  Richie cried all the way to the ER, one hand over his eye and the other clinging to Eddie’s sleeve, the two of them huddled together in the back of Richie’s dad’s car.  It’s faint and white now, when it used to be red and angry.  Eddie smiles a little, lifts his hands and places them against Richie’s chest, an anchor as Richie leans in. 

“I should warn you,” Richie says, voice low and suddenly deep, one hand coming up to palm the side of Eddie’s neck.  “I’m a _much_ better kisser now.” 

“Sure,” Eddie breathes, resists rolling his eyes as they fall closed and the distance between them gets smaller.  “Whatever…”

And then they’re kissing.  It’s an innocent press of lips at first, testing, giving a way out if it’s strange or gross, or if it’s too much and one of them wants to call it quits.  But then Richie shifts, fingers sneaking into the hair at Eddie’s nape and changing the angle of their mouths, and Eddie should have listened to him because _holy shit_.  Richie’s lips move against his, hard and deep, tongue dipping into his mouth as Eddie’s heart starts to beat faster, breath going uneven, nerves coming to life all up and down his arms and legs.  And he clings, grips Richie’s shirt as his body chants _yes yes yes_ , as Richie pulls back for a moment and looks down at him, eyes hooded and questioning. 

“Is this okay?”  Richie asks him, low and worried, but Eddie just nods quickly, tugs him back in, brings their mouths together again. 

Eddie’s fingers walk up, up over Richie’s shoulders, and he winds his arms around Richie’s neck and pulls him close.  It’s not like kissing _anyone_ else.  Not even a little bit.  Richie’s scratchy stubble under his hands, the familiar scent of his body wash, and the taste of spicy cinnamon gum that he keeps in the ashtray in his car- it’s all an unexplainable comfort. 

Richie’s mouth moves away from his, lips kissing and dragging down his neck, sucking a mark against the side, followed by a sharp bite.  “ _Oh fuck_ ,” Eddie groans, rutting his hips forward, dragging his cock over the growing bulge in Richie’s jeans; he gasps when Richie takes hold of his hips and grinds against him.  “Yeah…”

“This doing it for you?”  Richie sniggers in his ear, breathes against the shell as he rolls their bodies together.  His hands drop low on Eddie’s back, fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt, rough pads dragging across the hot skin there.  “Fuck.  I feel you getting hard.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, pushing his pelvis forward, so damn relieved as his lower body tingles and fills with heat.  He takes Richie’s hand in his, slides out from being pinned between Richie’s body and the couch, and pulls Richie down the hall.  “Come on.” 

Richie follows him, asks, “Are you sure?” as Eddie shoves the bedroom door open and tugs Richie inside.  “You’re _really_ sure?”

Turning to face him, Eddie nods, then reaches for Richie’s other hand.  “Yeah.  I am.  Are you?” 

Richie grins.  “Hell yeah I’m sure.”  And then he yanks Eddie in and kisses him wet and open, deep, Eddie’s knees going weak as Richie walks him back toward the bed, one hand braced low on Eddie’s back as Eddie clutches at his shoulders, then falls back. 

“You fucker,” Eddie breathes, smiling when Richie crawls over him, caging him in between his long arms and legs, planted on either side of his body.  “No one should be able to kiss like that.  It’s not fair.” 

Richie chortles, then ducks and kisses Eddie again, and Eddie will never admit that he whines when Richie pulls back.  “To be fair, I warned you.” 

“Not sufficiently.” 

“Ohh.  _Sufficiently_.  Turn me on, baby.” 

Eddie covers his face as he laughs, hiding his grin and his red face.  “Oh my god, stop.” 

Richie snags his wrists, pins them down on the dark bedspread as he drags his lips over Eddie’s jaw.  “So hot.  So _sufficient_.”  He nips at the spot under Eddie’s ear, then sucks a hard kiss over the sting, runs his tongue over the mark undoubtedly left behind.

Their lips come together again, and they kiss for a while, Eddie’s hands in Richie’s hair and Richie’s fingers tugging the neck of Eddie’s shirt aside.  Richie’s mouth disappears, moving low, down Eddie’s jaw and throat, teeth scraping the meat of Eddie’s shoulder before he bites down softly.   

“ _Yes_ ,” Eddie squirms and tugs on Richie’s hair, laughing when Richie hisses and lowers his body on top of him.  “Hair pulling?  You like that?”

Richie fits himself between Eddie’s legs, nips at Eddie’s throat and jaw, smirking when Eddie gasps and clutches at him.  “Mmm, biting?  _You like that_?” 

Eddie’s face heats up as Richie sits back on his heels, pulls his shirt up and over his head.  “Shut up.” 

“Hmm, nah.”  Tossing the shirt aside, Richie tugs at Eddie’s tee.  “Come on.  Off.” 

Eddie shucks the clothing quickly, then runs his hand down Richie’s abdomen, fingers combing through the trail of hair leading down and under the line of his jeans.  They’ve seen each other shirtless and in underwear plenty of times, but Eddie’s never really _looked_ , never caring or needing to before this.  Richie’s shoulders are all freckly, hair on his chest dark over his pale skin, the contrast interesting in the dim sunlight filtering through the blinds.  There’s another scar, this one on his bicep, a deep gash he got when they were in high school swimming at the river behind some private property.  Richie tripped over the slippery rocks in the shallow end, landed on a broken bottle and had to go to the ER.  Ten stitches and some ice cream later, the idiot wanted to go to the river again, but Eddie wouldn’t let him. 

“Wanna tell me what you like?”  Richie asks, lowering himself and stretching out over Eddie.  “Besides the biting.” 

“Um,” Eddie mumbles, distracted as Richie kisses a trail over his chest and clavicle.  “Can we figure it out as we go?  I don’t like degrading stuff, but other than that I’m fine.” 

Richie nods, takes his glasses off and tosses them off the bed, somewhere on the carpet.  “Okay.  Yeah.  That works.” 

Eddie pulls him back down into a kiss, hands tangling in Richie’s messy hair, and he sinks into the building heat, rocking his hips gently, a request for Richie to do the same.  Richie pulls back with a smile, waggles his brows as he grinds down hard, and Eddie’s back arches off the bed at the slow, incredible friction. 

Richie moves low, lips landing on Eddie’s throat, and then he starts a trail heading down, sucking marks over Eddie’s chest and ribs, biting at his stomach and running his tongue above the waistband of his shorts.  Hands in Richie’s hair, Eddie makes an embarrassing sound when Richie kisses his hip bone and scrapes his teeth over the skin there, hands gripping Eddie’s sides to hold him still. 

“You’re so noisy,” Richie says as he sits back, tugging Eddie’s shorts down and off his legs.  “Never would have guessed.” 

“You’re a fucking tease,” Eddie retorts, lifting his hips when Richie’s fingers curl under the waistband of his briefs.  They slide down his legs and off, thrown aside with the rest of their clothes, and now he’s completely naked.  “And I would have guessed that.” 

Laughing, Richie settles between Eddie’s legs, mouth level with his cock, hard and red and leaking- Eddie sucks in a breath.  “I’m good at this, too.”  Richie brags, blowing cool air over the rounded tip.  “Just so you know.” 

There’s a challenging gleam in Richie’s eyes, and Eddie takes the bait, wiggles a bit and says, “Prove it.”

The bastard proves it, swallowing Eddie down all in one go, tongue curling around the head and flicking lightly over the thick vein underneath.  Eddie stuffs his fist in his mouth, bites down on his knuckles, tries to keep still as Richie hollows his cheeks and hums around him.  _Fuck_.  Richie’s mouth is so hot and wet and wonderful, his hand joining in and squeezing the base, and it’s quick and messy and dirty, but so _so_ good. 

It doesn’t take long for Eddie to push at Richie’s shoulders to get him to stop, shaking and moaning breathlessly, one hand tightening in Richie’s hair.  “ _S-Stop, I’m gonna come_ ,” he cries out, and Richie pulls off him, moves up his body and cages him in with his arms on either side of Eddie’s head.  “ _Fuck_.” 

“You’re so easy,” Richie says, pecking Eddie’s cheek and nose.  “My little badger.” 

Eddie glares up at him playfully, then he shoves Richie off him and on his back, sits up and swings his leg over Richie’s hips.  “Quit calling me that,” he says, settling back on Richie’s thighs, palms braced high on Richie’s abdomen. 

Richie shimmies his shoulders.  “Make me, sugah.” 

Plastering himself to Richie’s chest, Eddie kisses him slow and full, fingers trailing down, down over Richie’s ribs, scratching Richie’s navel and that damn hypnotizing trail of hair.  He grins, undoes the button and zipper of Richie’s jeans, then slips his hand inside. 

Snorting, Richie pulls away from the kiss.  “A _hand job?_   Is that the best you got?” 

Echoing Richie’s words from earlier, Eddie says, “I’m _really_ good at this.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

Eddie takes him in hand, pumps him twice as he smiles.  “Yeah.” 

It’s no lie, and with a few careful twists of his wrist, his thumb flattening over the wet slit, Eddie has Richie thrusting up into his grip, eyes closed and chest rising and falling, fingers twisting in the sheets as his face screws up in pleasure.  Eddie speeds up, sucks a trail of kisses over Richie’s throat, tightens his hold just right, palm jerking faster as Richie’s breath catches in his throat. 

“Okay, okay.  Stop.  _Stop.”_ Richie pushes his hand away, panting hard and deep, eyes fluttering open, dazed. 

Eddie huffs a laugh, then turns over to rummage for lube and a condom in his bedside table.  “Geeze, Rich.  You’re so _easy_.” 

“That’s not fair,” Richie breathes, then smacks Eddie’s thigh.  “Who gives hand jobs like that?  You could make fucking millions selling that technique.  What the fuck.”

Sitting up, Eddie pops the top on the lube bottle, sets the little square packet down on the bed as he grins cheekily.  He ignores Richie’s comment.  “So, I’m gonna prep myself.  How do you want to do this?” 

That gets Richie on his feet, shoving his jeans and underwear off, along with his socks, and then he stands at the end of the bed proudly, hands on his hips.  “However you want.  I’m not picky.” 

Eddie considers this as he fills his palm with lube, then warms the liquid between his fingers.   “Okay.  Lay down on your back.  Give me a few minutes.” 

Leaning back on his elbow, Eddie reaches between his legs and pushes one finger inside, hissing at the stretch as Richie obediently spreads out on the bed.  Though he hasn’t had sex for a while he still does this to himself, when he finds the time to be alone and really enjoy it, using his modest collection of toys he keeps hidden under his bed.  It doesn’t take long for him to get two fingers all the way down to the knuckles, his breath coming hard and fast as he grazes that sweet little spot inside him. 

“Fuck,” Richie groans, his hand on Eddie’s thigh, fingertips digging into his skin.  “You flexible little bastard.  You never told me you can fold yourself like that.” 

Chuckling, Eddie keeps a careful pace, his knee pulled back up close to his shoulder.  “I’ve always been flexible.” 

“So we can do some kinky shit, right?” 

“What?  No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because-” Eddie’s voice cuts off around a moan, and he rocks down into his hand, fingers pulsing inside him.  “Fuck.  Stop talking.  Let me do this.”

When he’s three deep and panting, Eddie decides it’s good enough, and straddles Richie’s thighs, staring eagerly as Richie’s long fingers roll the condom over himself.  It’s the first good look he gets at Richie’s cock; long, slimmer than his own, curved slightly to the right, but perfect.  He can’t wait to feel it inside him.  “Ready?” 

“Yeah.  Come on,” Richie says with a laugh, and Eddie pinches the underside of his forearm, making Richie yelp as he lifts up on his knees, reaches behind himself and takes Richie’s cock in his fingers. 

“I might need a bit,” Eddie tells him, and then guides the head toward his hole, sinking down with a hiss, letting out a long, heavy breath. 

Richie is holding his waist, patient, lip pulled between his teeth, brows furrowing in the middle the deeper Eddie takes him.  When he’s fully seated, Eddie sighs, shifts his weight and hums.  _Shit_.  It feels so damn good.  He doesn’t even have the self-control to wait the few minutes it takes to adjust, rocking back, then forward, letting out a desperate sound.  “Fuck…”

Hands on Richie’s chest, Eddie rolls his hips, smiling when Richie moans and encourages him to move, fingers digging into Eddie’s skin where they’re clutching at his sides.  So Eddie does, hips rolling faster, head thrown back as he finds the perfect angle, Richie’s cock right up against his sweet spot, nailing it full on every time he pushes back.  

“Goddamn,” Richie groans, and then he’s thrusting up, feet braced against the bed as he holds on to Eddie’s hips.  “ _Fuck_.” 

Eddie doesn’t say anything.  Can’t say anything, not with his cock aching and his thighs burning, hips juddering as his orgasm rushes forward too fast.  He holds it in, squeezes the base of his cock, then leans back and grabs hold of Richie’s thighs, lifting his ass up a bit, then slamming himself back down. 

“Holy fuck,” Richie says, moving down to cover Eddie’s thighs, nails scraping the skin as Eddie moves.  “Jesus, Eds.  You hot little asshole.  You’re gonna break my dick like that.” 

Groaning, Eddie adjusts his hold, shifts his knees for better leverage.  “I’m not gonna break your dick.” 

Richie chokes when Eddie moves again, his words broken up by his harsh breaths.  “You might.  But I’ll die happy.” 

Ignoring his stupid comment, Eddie closes his eyes and fucks himself down, breath hitching when Richie matches his pace and thrusts up into him.  “Shit.  Fuck fuck-“

Now he’s moaning, crying out, hitting that spot as Richie moves with him, in him, a string of curses falling from Richie’s lips that Eddie isn’t paying attention to.  It’s fast and hard and hot.  So hot.  Eddie can’t remember the last time he was this turned on, years ago with a boyfriend perhaps, or maybe in his college days when he could still get a good hookup in without any problems.  Maybe it’s because it’s been so long that he doesn’t last, but he comes hard and sudden, a long, low groan ripped from his throat as he closes his hand around his cock and pumps his fist tight and fast. 

Coming back to himself, Eddie looks down at Richie, at his glazed eyes and his flushed cheeks, at the line formed between his brows.  Eddie can feel him still hard inside, still throbbing and needing.  So he braces himself again, rocks his body mercilessly, squeezing around Richie as best he can in his relaxed state.  Richie comes, with his eyes squeezed shut, soundless, fingers digging into Eddie’s hips, leaving bruises and scratches behind, but Eddie doesn’t mind. 

Exhausted, Eddie collapses beside Richie, one arm thrown carelessly over Richie’s chest as he pants, tries to catch his breath.  He listens as Richie does the same, letting several minutes pass in silence.  The sunlight peeking through the blinds spills across the bed, lighting bright, blinding stripes all over Richie’s face and chest, over Eddie’s arm where it’s still splayed across Richie’s skin.

Eddie’s expecting to be hit with a sudden wave of guilt or horror, but it never comes.  He feels…fine.  Great.  Relieved.  Turning to get a look at Richie’s expression, Eddie hears him chuckle, feels Richie’s hand pat his shoulder. 

“Not bad,” Richie says, smirking, their eyes meeting briefly.  “For a horny little badger.” 

Richie cackles as Eddie tiredly whacks him with the pillow, pushing himself up on his knees for better leverage.  “Quit calling me that, you shit!” 

“But it’s your nickname!” 

“It’s not!” 

Eddie forces himself up on his feet and heads to the master bath, grabs a rag and runs it under the water.  His stomach growls as he wipes drying come off his chest, and he remembers he hasn’t eaten anything yet today.  Just woke up and hopped in the shower, and then…

“Make me food,” Richie demands, grinning as he stretches out across the sheets, arms over his head and toes curling.  “I’m tired.  You wore me the fuck out.” 

“Get your lazy ass up and get your own food.” 

“But Eddie, my love!” 

“Oh god, no.”  Grabbing his underwear and shorts off the floor, Eddie slips both on, then looks around for his shirt.  “Do not call me your love after we just did all that.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s weird!” 

Richie groans, then reaches for Eddie when he gets too close, grabbing on to his arm and pulling him back on the bed.  “Then lets cuddle.  I want cuddles.” 

Eddie shoves him away, laughing, his chest light and free, his body humming with satisfaction and warmth.  “I’m _not_ cuddling you.  Get up.” 

“Ughhhh.” 

They both head to the kitchen, Richie jumping into his thoughts on a movie he watched the other night, and it’s like any other day.  Richie doesn’t act any differently, still stuffs his face and chews with his mouth open intentionally, and Eddie chastises him for it, as he always does.  They agree to binge watch _American Horror Story_ , so Eddie calls a local pizza place and orders, watching as Richie drops back down on the couch in the living room.  He grabs his tablet off the table, exactly where he left it before they… well, _before_ , and continues working. 

Eddie prints out one of the three manuscripts waiting in his email, then joins Richie on the couch with his red pen, pulling his legs up off the floor and tucking them beneath him.  The Coven theme is playing on the screen, Eddie’s favorite season, and he gets lost paying attention, muscles loose and relaxed and mind wonderfully silent.  As the episode begins he feels his eyelids drooping, considers taking a power nap before the pizza arrives, and then Richie drops his bare feet in his lap, grinning wide from behind his tablet screen. 

As Eddie turns to him with a glare and pinches Richie’s big toe, he basks in the relief flooding through him, and is silently grateful that things feel normal between them.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think I thrive on reading feedback :D  
> You can come say hi on tumblr at @reddiepop


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii thank you so much for all the feedback! It means a lot to me! 
> 
> I hope you guys like this one!

It’s midweek when Eddie zones out during his meeting with Bill, in the same café across the street from the office, pen tapping and foot jiggling, his left leg crossed over his right tightly.   

“Are y-you even l-listening, huh?”  Bill asks him, not angry like he should be, but with a knowing smile and a weird little twinkle in his eyes.

Eddie nods, a complete lie.  “Yeah. I am. So, uh, do you want me to read it all through again? I can do that.”   

It’s the fourth time he’s let himself get distracted within the last hour.  Every damn time he tries to focus his mind flits off and dives, right into a pool of naked skin and Richie.  He hasn’t been this daydream-y since he was a dumbass teenager, swooning over straight guys at school and furiously jerking off to his posters of the boys from _Beverly Hills 90210._ And no, he’s not dreaming of Richie specifically.  It’s the sex itself he can’t get out of his head.   

And, okay, if he’s honest, maybe it does have a bit to do with Richie.  It’s all just so unexpected, something he never would have considered before.  Sure, maybe he had a wet dream or two in middle school about his best friend, but he always chalked it up to dreams being weird, and never planned on sleeping with him.  Never even _entertained_ the idea.   

Now that it’s happened, it’s all he can think about.  The countdown restarted in his mind- four days and six hours- and he’s once again aching for it, but it’s sharper now.  Focused on one person.  All this stupid need and lust building in his stomach aimed at his dorky as fuck best friend.   

It’s no use to continue the meeting, so Bill reschedules, and Eddie apologizes over and over, even as Bill assures him it’s fine.  Says he could use some time to go over everything again anyway.  Then Eddie is left to head home, antsy and worked up, squirming in the car as he heads down the slow-going roads.  Listening to music doesn’t help.  Keeping the windows down and letting the cool night air hit him in the face doesn’t help.  Even listing off all the disgusting things Richie has done throughout their lives doesn’t take the edge off at all.   

Once he’s home he collapses on the couch, kicks his shoes off and decides to spend the evening feeling sorry for himself.  Fuck editing and the emails waiting for him- he’s going to grab the little tub of _The Tonight Dough_ sitting in his freezer and stuff his face.  Binge something like _Friends_ and ignore his brain.  He could really use some of that special Chandler Bing brand of self-deprecating humor right now.   

Just as he’s dragging his feet into the kitchen, the front door opens and Richie steps inside, grinning wide and smelling like that damn citrusy cologne Eddie likes so much.  “Hey!”  He greets, shoving Eddie’s spare house key in his pocket as he leans against the wall to kick his shoes off.  “You’ve heard of that movie _Alex Strangelove_ , right?  We should watch it.  Mike told me it’s pretty good-“   

Somewhere in his mind, between _no no stupid stupid_ and _fuck his mouth felt so good on my dick_ Eddie makes a decision, and he doesn’t hesitate to act.  The rest of what Mike thinks about _Alex Strangelove_ gets lost when Eddie fists the hair at the base of Richie’s neck, pulls him in and crushes their mouths together.  There’s no slow build to it; Richie’s hands find their place on Eddie’s hips, Eddie’s fingers tightening and tugging on Richie’s thick locks, earning a sharp breath that makes his head spin.  They almost stumble as Eddie pulls Richie to him, walking backwards blindly, hand feeling for the wall behind him as he directs them toward the living room.   

Richie follows Eddie to the couch, and they don’t even get all their clothes off this time, only pausing for Eddie to grab what they need from his room and then they’re off.  On his back Eddie moans, high and unashamed, ankles on Richie’s shoulders as Richie fucks deep into him from above.  Richie’s hands are planted on either side of Eddie’s head, Eddie’s fingers digging into Richie’s arms, skin slapping together with every thrust.  The zipper of Richie’s jeans digs into Eddie’s ass, his shirt bunched over his trembling stomach, thighs beginning to shake as Richie drives into his sweet spot over and over and _over_ again.   

All Eddie can do is chant “ _yes yes yes”_ under his breath, toes curling in his socks, back arching as his eyes flutter shut.  Pleasure coils tight in his stomach, building as Richie slams into his body, sweat running down the back of his knees as he holds on and loses himself.  All he can hear is his own voice begging “harder, harder fuck- yes, _yesss_ -“ and Richie’s answering grunts, the steady squeak of the couch springs straining under their weight.  His nails are leaving marks on Richie’s skin, little red crescents that will still be there tomorrow, but he doesn’t care.  All he cares about is how fucking good Richie feels inside, how his own cock is aching between his legs, so damn hard as he wraps a hand around himself and pumps his fist frantically.  His orgasm rushes forward and Eddie comes hard, crying out with a throaty sound he’s never made before, whimpering as Richie leans in and bends Eddie nearly in half, chasing his own pleasure, relentless.   

Richie groans as he falls apart, head falling forward with a full-body shudder, gasping and hips twitching as he collapses and crushes Eddie under his weight.  They stay that way for several minutes, catching their breath, a sated smile spreading over Eddie’s lips.  His skin is humming beautifully, mind blank and uncluttered, and he strokes a palm down Richie’s spine, giggling when Richie makes a satisfied noise and runs his fingers over Eddie’s bare side.   

“Stop!”  Eddie laughs, shoving Richie’s hand away as he tries to move out from under him, but he’s pinned by Richie’s body.  “Ugh, get your heavy ass off me.”     

Richie makes another sound, mumbles, “Don’t make me move.  You’re comfy.”   

Snorting, Eddie swats at Richie’s shoulder, then tugs on a dark strand that’s sticking up at the back of Richie’s head.  “Come on.  We’re all sweaty and gross.  I want a shower.”   

Pushing himself up, Richie starts laughing, hair stuck to his forehead and glasses crooked on his nose.  “Fuck,” he sighs, sitting back on his heels as he glances behind him.  “What the hell was that?  I didn’t even get both shoes off before you mauled me.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.  “I didn’t _maul_ you.”  

“You attacked me!”   

Sitting up on his elbows, Eddie looks down at himself, where his underwear is bunched up under one leg, traces of come on his shirt and stomach, smeared over the bit of hair that grows in a line beneath his navel.  “Where are my jeans?  Did you tear them?  I swear I thought I heard something rip.”   

Richie gets to his feet, ties the used condom off and stretches, arms long and nearly touching the low ceiling, his shirt riding up over his hip.  “Right there,” he says, pointing behind the arm of the couch, just out of Eddie’s sight.  “I didn’t _rip_ them.”    

Eddie leans over the couch and grabs them off the floor, studying them closely as Richie looks down at himself.  “You’re off the hook.  These are expensive.  I would’ve fucking killed you if you ripped them.”   

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie says, then, “Ah shit.  You jizzed on my shirt.”   

Following where Richie is pointing, Eddie snorts when he sees a large spot in the center of Richie’s black shirt, over the T and H in _The Killers_.  He can’t hold back his laughter, eyes watering as Richie tears the shirt off and looks at it sadly, lip pushed out in a pathetic pout.  “You want me to wash it for you?”   

“Uh, yeah?”  Richie says, holding it out for Eddie to take.  “Your man juice, _your_ problem.”   

“ _Man juice_?”  

“Swimmers.  Whatever.”   

“You’re fucking nasty,” Eddie says, but he takes the shirt, gathers his jeans and slips his briefs back on.  “I was gonna just watch TV.  You staying?”   

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Richie comments, following Eddie as he heads for the back of the house toward the laundry room.  “You got anything I can make?  Ohh!  Tacos!”   

And just like that, it becomes a _thing._ They don’t even talk about it- they don’t really need to.  It’s decided the third time when Richie is pulling his shirt off in a hurry, and Eddie is fighting with the leg of his skinny jeans (that Richie insists make his ass look amazing), and Richie just says, “So… is this, like, happening?  We doing this again?”  And Eddie just shrugs, mumbles something like “Sure,” in reply, finally gets his legs free, and that’s that.

Every evening Richie comes over, which isn’t unusual, and every evening they end up in bed together, which is quickly become the _new_ usual.  Sometimes they undress completely, fuck fast and hard in Eddie’s bed or on the couch, and sometimes they shove their clothes quickly and frantically out of the way, just enough to get Richie’s dick out of his pants and Eddie’s ass accessible.  A week after it starts, Eddie loses a pair of briefs when Richie tears them by tugging them aside and slamming into him from behind.  He didn’t realize while he was bent over Richie’s couch, clutching the arm desperately as Richie pounded into him, and was pissed after when Richie just laughed and promised to buy him a new pair.  The fucker still hasn’t.     

It’s all a little addicting.  Okay, no- _a lot_ addicting.  Because whether Eddie’s shorts are dangling from his ankle and Richie is thrusting into him messily, or their skin is all pressed together, and they take their time before Richie slides into his body, it’s _good_.  Amazing.  Hot in a way Eddie’s never experienced with anyone else.  Admittedly, he hasn’t had a ton of partners in his lifetime, so it’s hard to draw too many comparisons, but he doesn’t have to have fifty plus partners under his belt to know that Richie is the best sex he’s ever had.  Sex has always been _nice_ , something he likes and enjoys with a man he cares about, but he never knew it could be so damn good.  And he can’t get enough of it.     

The most relieving part of it all is that it really doesn’t change a thing between them.  They’re still Eddie and Richie, best friends who hang out most of the time and practically live out of each other’s homes.  There’s no tension or awkward moments, just fast and urgent sex followed by movie binges and sharing their work with each other.  Even when Eddie looks down at himself afterwards, sees the finger shaped bruises left on his skin from where Richie gripped him too hard, all he does is smile, because he knows he did his own damage to Richie’s back or arms, and they’ll laugh and tease each other about it the next time.  And it’s normal- it’s _them_.  Just as they’ve always been.   

The new routine goes on uninterrupted for almost a month.  October arrives with a cold gust and fresh fall air, bringing with it the reds and oranges that paint the hills and the orchards, lighting up the valley in a way that is so uniquely its own.  As vain as it sounds, it’s what Eddie loves most about calling Napa his home; he can drive down most streets every day and see what others long for.  He’s lived here all his life and doesn’t plan on leaving, even if his overbearing mother lives a little too close for comfort, about half an hour down the highway in Fairfield, with his Dad’s sister, who is just as miserable and lonely as she is.  It’s worth it to stay, because he can drop in on her when he’s feeling a little guilty from ignoring her phone calls, make her happy and then stay away for another six months or so.  A perfect set up he’s worked his whole life for, and one he isn’t going to give up so easily.   

Every year Richie leaves for a week and takes his mom to Disneyworld for her birthday, and every year Eddie gets a ton of work done while he’s gone.  They leave the first week of the month, and it starts out just fine; Eddie gets through a solid four chapters of the current manuscript and decides to call it a night around ten.  Sure, Eddie goes to bed that first night a little irritated, because he’s gotten used to having sex most days, but he’s fine.  It’s not a big deal.  He jerks off in the shower the next morning and chases his orgasm with a brief workout, that he really should have done _before_ the shower, but.  Oh well.  So he’s a little sweaty when he heads into the office?  Big fucking deal.   

After a couple days a bad mood settles in, and it doesn’t help anything that Eddie knows it’s because of the sudden lack of sex.  Knowing makes him angry, because what the fuck?  He’s gone months without it, and suddenly he gets some and his body throws a bitch fit?  Fucking seriously.  Richie’s no help, calling every night and teasing him over video chat, making obscene gestures with his hands and pushing his tongue into his cheek while Eddie gives him _the look._  

“Want me to take my dick out?”  Richie asks him the third night, grinning when Eddie threatens to shut out of the skype app.  “Wait, wait- hear me out!”   

Eddie does not roll his eyes, but he waits while tapping his nails on the desk shoved in the corner of his living room, where he sits when he can’t stand being on the couch with his computer in his lap.  “Why are you even talking about this?”   

Richie chuckles and adjusts the camera- the one on his tablet- and the hotel room tilts behind him.  “My balls are backed up,” he says, plain and straightforward, and Eddie grimaces.  “I tried jerking off this morning, but my dick misses your ass.”   

“God, seriously?”  Eddie rests his forehead in his palm, face red and cock giving a small twitch of interest.  “Do you _have_ to say it like that?”   

The picture goes grainy as Richie exclaims, “Like what?”   

“Like, I don’t know.”  Eddie checks his internet connection for issues, distracted.  “So blunt?”   

“Come on, Spagheds,” Richie says, and then the camera follows him down as he settles back on the bed, propped up against a pile of comfortable looking pillows under the faint orange glow of a lamp.  “Give me _something_ to think about.  How about a nip slip?”   

Eddie closes out of skype and texts Richie the middle finger emoji, followed by **Goodnight, dickhead :P** to let Richie know he isn’t mad.  His phone buzzes right away.  

**Richarrrdo Tozi-ay:** My dickhead says to have sweet dreams 8========D

Eddie will never admit to anyone that he laughs too hard at that.   

So he focuses on work and continues to ignore Richie’s attempts to get freaky on the phone or on video.  On day five he gets hit with three manuscripts at once, and each writer keeps harassing him to hurry up, sending him pestering emails asking for updates and for a preview of his thoughts.  He doesn’t indulge them, tells them they have to wait and give him time, and reminds them that this is the kind of thing he absolutely cannot rush through.  Not if they want their books to be crisp and as close to perfect as they can be.  

On Sunday Richie gets back into town, and he invites Eddie over that evening, claiming he bought him a souvenir that he knows Eddie will love.  Eddie’s so _done_ with the manuscripts and the writers that he leaps at the opportunity to ditch his house for the night.  He ignores the little jolt of excitement that zips up his spine, tells his body to calm the hell down, and only thinks about wrapping his legs around Richie’s waist seven times before he heads out.   

A little after six Eddie knocks on Richie’s door, his skin buzzing and legs shifting restlessly as he listens to the sound of Richie’s approaching footsteps from the other side.  They both have emergency keys to each other’s homes, and while Richie loves to use his all the time, Eddie keeps his stored safely in his room.  Jiggling his own car keys in his hand, he slips them into his pocket and smiles when the door swings open, then snorts when he spots a pair a glittery cat ears sticking out of Richie’s messy hair.   

Richie purrs.   

“Wow,” Eddie says, fighting a laugh he has no chance of holding back.  His words get broken up by it.  “Why are you wearing those?”   

Richie steps aside to let him in, smile bright and hair a little damp.  “They’re supposed to be sexy,” he explains with an awkward twirl.  The scent of his body wash and shampoo linger in the air as Eddie shuts the door behind him.  Richie must have just got out of the shower.  “You don’t like?”   

Eddie eyes the ears for a moment, decides they’re kind of cute, then shakes his head.  “No.  Not at all.”   

Grinning knowingly, Richie says, “I got you a pair.”   

“Oh boy.”  Eddie follows Richie into the kitchen, where a pair of identical black cat ears are sitting on the counter.  Riche grabs them and turns, holding them out to put on Eddie’s head.  “ _No_.”   

“Come on!”  Richie insists, pouting ridiculously.  “They’re _perfect_ for you!”   

Eddie can’t refuse, caught up in Richie’s dorky smile and good mood, so he dips his head in invitation, scrunching up his nose when Richie slips the headband behind his ears. 

“Awww,” Richie says, voice pitched higher to mimic Eddie’s tone.  “Too bad they didn’t have badger ears.”   

Tearing the ears off, Eddie whacks Richie in the chest with them, bottom lip pulled between his teeth to keep from smiling.  “Bastard.”   

“Is that a smile?”   

“ _No_.”   

“Sounds like _yes._ ”   

“Shut up,” Eddie says, just as Richie steps close and reaches for his sides, fingers wiggling and digging in just enough to make him giggle.  “Do _not_ fucking tickle me.”

“Or?”  Richie’s hands land on the edge of the counter, boxing Eddie in, his stupid smile growing wider.  “What are you gonna do about it?”   

Eddie raises his chin and huffs.  “I’ll hit you.  You know I will.”   

“I know.”   

Richie’s palms come up between them suddenly, sliding along Eddie’s jaw as he leans in and steps closer.  Bringing their lips together, Richie kisses him slow, sweet, dipping his head to the side to lick into Eddie’s mouth.  Eddie isn’t expecting it to be so… different, but he goes with it, hands moving and resting on Richie’s chest, fingers curling into the cotton under his palms as Richie presses him back into the counter and pins him against it.   

Something flutters in Eddie’s chest as Richie’s mouth moves over his, as one of Richie’s hands lands on his waist, slips under his shirt and rests warmly over his skin.  He ignores it, falls into his body’s needs, sighs when Richie’s other hand slides down, past his hip to cup his ass.  There’s a little red flag waving in Eddie’s mind, just out of sight of the lust pulsing through him, catching a corner of his attention, but not enough to really see it.  Richie continues to touch him, fingers kneading his ass and teasing at the space between the back of his thighs.   

Eddie groans when Richie kisses his throat, head falling back as Richie sucks at a wonderful little patch of skin.  “Yeah…” he breathes, gasping when Richie bites down and thrusts against him.  “Shit.”   

Then Eddie is pulled down the short hallway and into Richie’s room, the door thrown shut behind him as he’s pressed up against it.  The kisses get harder, frantic, a little desperate as Richie hums into his mouth and then moves them over to the bed.  Eddie falls back into the covers, hands trembling slightly as he reaches out and pulls Richie down to him, blue eyes staring at him in a way that makes that damn fluttery feeling start up inside him again.   

Their clothes come off slowly.  Richie takes his time rolling Eddie’s shirt up and over his head, then runs his wide, hot palms down over Eddie’s chest, stomach, thumbing at his hip bones.   The silence in the dark room presses in on Eddie’s ears, his pulse tripping when Richie tugs his jeans and underwear off with gentle fingers, then drags his lips down the line of hair under Eddie’s navel.   

Then Richie is naked too, and Eddie is pushing his hips down, where Richie’s fingers are deep inside him, long and perfect and touching every little place that makes him shiver and shake.  Eddie doesn’t look into Richie’s eyes, but he can feel them on him, watching him, and he doesn’t know what the hell to do with that.  And everything Richie is doing to his body feels so damn good, so good that there’s no way he could stop now.  Not with Richie kissing up the side of his neck, breathing words into Eddie’s ear that he’s never said to him before, like “You’re gorgeous” and “Fucking amazing”, or the one that makes Eddie clutch at him- “I wanna feel you.”  There’s no way Eddie can pull himself away, even though that red flag is still waving, faster now, begging for him to pay attention, to stop this before Richie says anything else.     

Richie sits up, crosses his legs as he pulls Eddie to him, condom already on and shining with lube as Eddie settles over Richie’s lap.  And then they’re so close, mouths inches apart and chests flush, Richie’s hands taking Eddie’s legs and wrapping them around his waist, somehow getting even closer.  Richie helps him sink down onto him, holding the base of his cock as Eddie sucks in a breath and lowers his body.    

Eddie’s never had sex like this, not with the men he’s loved or the ones he thought he did.  It’s too close, too much, no escape as Richie looks into his eyes, palms caressing his back and shoulders, lips touching each time Eddie rocks forward with a moan.  Those blue-blue eyes, the glasses Richie never got around to taking off, the dark hair and freckles and laugh lines- it all tugs at something deep in the pit of Eddie’s stomach, takes root in his chest and makes a new home there.    

“ _Eddie_ ,” Richie groans, burying his face in Eddie’s neck as Eddie moves faster, harder, arms winding around Richie’s neck and shoulders, mouth open as he pants into Richie’s hair.  “ _Eddie_.”   

Eddie doesn’t answer him, closes his eyes as he rocks his pelvis, bites back the sounds that are begging to come out.  The bed creaks under them, sheets tangled around their legs, and Eddie scratches a line down Richie’s spine, tightens his grip when Richie turns suddenly.   

Then Eddie is lowered on his back, Richie above him and thrusting into him, with gentle rolls of his hips that hit that perfect spot inside.  Crying out, Eddie holds on, one hand fisted in Richie’s hair, the other low on Richie’s back, encouraging the pace and the angle.  “Don’t stop,” he whispers, holds back from saying Richie’s name, even though it’s on the tip of his tongue, dying to come out and ruin everything.  “ _Please_ don’t stop.”

Richie kisses him, wet and open and messy, and Eddie trembles through it, clutches Richie harder and clenches his thighs around Richie’s waist.  God, Richie’s _eyes_ \- they don’t look away as Eddie’s stomach tightens, as Eddie moans and tosses his head back.  It doesn’t last much longer after that; Richie fucks into him deeper, hips stuttering as he comes, and Eddie isn’t far behind him.  He slips his hand between their bodies and strips his cock, fast and slick, thumb pressing into the head, his thighs twitching and heart thudding hard as he spills between them.   

After, Richie cleans them up quickly, then removes his glasses and rests his head high on Eddie’s chest, hair tickling Eddie’s chin and neck.  This… this is also something they don’t do, and Eddie is torn between the two voices echoing in his head.  One warning him that this isn’t a good idea, never was from the beginning, while the other howls in approval and swoons, convincing him that everything is fine.  Everything’s okay.  Normal.   

Richie’s lips kiss a short path up Eddie’s throat, stopping right by his ear, breath so warm and incredible on his skin.  “Missed you,” Richie says, low and groggy, arm tucking around Eddie’s waist as he slips his leg between Eddie’s thighs.   

Eddie stares up at the ceiling, breathing as steadily as possible, his hand resting on Richie’s back with a mind of its own, fingers trailing up and down the dip in his spine, and something inside him softens at the little shiver that goes through Richie’s skin.  

He doesn’t say that he missed Richie too.  He doesn’t say anything at all.   

 

 

/ / / /

 

 

The _weird_ officially arrives and settles in, validating all Eddie’s original fears and hesitance to do this.  And it’s not that it’s _weird weird_ \- it’s a shift he’s not prepared for, isn’t even sure he wants, but flows as naturally as it all started in the first place.   

Richie, of course, is unfazed.  So all the _weird_ Eddie is drowning in is all coming from him.  The next time they have sex he is sure to make it rough and fast, on all fours at the edge of the bed as Richie holds on to his hips and slams into him mercilessly.  It’s fucking amazing, but regardless of his efforts, Richie still pulls him into his chest afterwards and kisses him full and slow on the mouth.  Eddie’s insides flip over themselves, and he pretends to fall asleep to avoid thinking about what that could mean.   

Another time, when he’s in the mood to not acknowledge any of Richie’s affectionate looks or touches, he turns around and rides Richie while facing away from him, lifting and fucking himself down hard on Richie’s cock, shaking and moaning because he’s angry at himself but it feels as good as always.  But Richie- the fucker- he turns them over until Eddie is on his stomach, spreads out over Eddie’s back, and slides back into Eddie carefully.  Eddie holds on to the bedspread as Richie takes him apart, lips on Eddie’s back and shoulders with one arm wrapped around his chest.  It’s too much, too much of the things Eddie wants and craves, and Eddie hates himself a little bit for indulging when Richie cuddles up to him again.   

On a chilly Thursday he’s at the office, editing at his desk and having a day from hell.  He woke up with a head and stomach ache, tried to chase the pain away with an aspirin and some tea, but the pounding at the back of his skull has only gotten worse as the emails have poured in.  Some damn, demanding writer keeps bothering him for updates, and the scent of some sharp cologne drifts in the air in the hall each time he leaves his office to go to the bathroom to splash water on his face, making his head pound harder than before.    

Around noon he gets a call from his mother, and the idiot that he is, he answers it.  The headache gets worse mid-call, his brain pulsing as she demands that he stop by soon, because she _misses_ him, wants to see him and talk to him about something he can’t even pay attention to.  It’s not the worst phone call he’s ever had with her, but when she asks if he’s seeing anyone and she scoffs when he tells her no, it just pushes him over the edge.  He hangs up on her, doesn’t answer when she calls back five times in a row, and ignores the little icon telling him he has three new visual voice messages.   

Throughout the day he’s been texting Richie, about the usual stupid things they talk about.  Updates on their work and the jokes they heard on the morning shows on the radio.  Around one Eddie decides to head home after the higher ups send him a group email, requesting a meeting regarding a complaint made by a writer.  He doesn’t even read through the whole thing, just shuts his laptop and gathers his things, texts Richie a reply that he isn’t feeling well, and heads out the door.   

At home he crawls into bed fully dressed, jeans scratchy against his legs as he flops down on the covers.  The room is flooded with gray light from the cloudy sky, the blinds left slatted open from his rush in the morning to get going.  Watching the clouds shift and the sun tease warmth from behind the dark clusters, Eddie’s eyes droop steadily, the stress tension in his shoulders falling away as his mind slows and he falls asleep, arms wrapped around his favorite fluffy pillow and mouth wide open.   

When he wakes up the blinds are closed, and the lights are on in his room, the clock on the nightstand glowing with a green seven-zero-nine.  Eddie stretches out over the bed, letting out a long, wide yawn, his lower back popping as he searches for his phone in the mess of pillows around him.  His ears prick at the sound of shuffling feet coming down the hall, and he glances up in time to see Richie appear in the doorway, smiling when his eyes land on Eddie.   

“Hey,” Richie greets, stepping into the room with his hands shoved in his pockets, dark sweats hugging his hips and _GLOW_ stretched across the front of his shirt in bright pink.  “How’re you feeling?”   

“Fine…?” Eddie says, confused for a moment, before he remembers the pounding in his head from earlier.  Just like that the tension returns to his body, and he stops searching for his phone to scrub his palms down over his face.  He groans when he remembers the emails from his bosses, and the new ones that are probably waiting for him right now.  “I’m not sick.  I had a bad headache.”   

“Ah,” Richie says, stepping up to the edge and resting one knee on the covers.  “I guess you can just eat the soup I brought anyway.  It’s that miso one you like from the sushi place near your office.”   

Arching a brow, Eddie stares up at Richie curiously, grateful but wondering at the sweet gesture.  “How nice of you.”   

Richie shrugs, bringing his other leg up off the floor as he shuffles over Eddie’s feet.  “Well, you’ve seen my sweet side.”  He drops down behind Eddie, snuggles up to his back and slides an arm around his waist.  “Now you must die.”   

“What are you…?”  Eddie trails off as Richie wedges his left arm under Eddie’s body, with some difficulty, and wraps both long limbs around Eddie’s middle, pulls him back tight into his chest.  “Um…”

“Cuddles,” Richie says brightly, leaning up and murmuring into Eddie’s ear, breath warm as it caresses Eddie’s suddenly tingly skin.  “Death by cuddles.  Death by _snuggles_!”   

Long fingers wiggle over Eddie’s stomach, tickling up and over his ribs as he snorts and tries to pull away.  “Stop!”  Richie blows a raspberry against his neck, and Eddie can’t stop giggling, hiding his face to keep his smile to himself.  “Ugh.  You got your nasties all over me.”   

“Hmm,” Richie hums, hands settling down and finding a place to rest on Eddie’s waist, one sneaking under his shirt, fingers now gentle as they glide over Eddie’s side.  “I think you like my nasties.”

“Gross.”   

“Gross?”

Eddie turns slightly, looks up at Richie from the awkward angle, a smile fighting its way through his forced frown.  “Yeah.  Gross.  _You’re_ gross.”

“Oh!  My _fragile_ heart.”  The mattress shifts as Richie pushes up on his elbow, hovering over Eddie’s shoulder, eyes searching as they dart somewhere between Eddie’s mouth and gaze.  The lamp is on, and the glow lends warmth to Richie’s pale, freckly skin, a faint, red flush appearing on his cheeks.  Softly, he says, “Heya, Eds,” and smiles, a strange, sweet smile that Eddie has only seen a few times over the years, and never directed at him.

Before Eddie can reply, Richie moves in, catches Eddie’s mouth in a full, slow kiss, one that makes Eddie’s pulse flutter and his thoughts all stop in their tracks.  Reaching back, Eddie palms the side of Richie’s neck, fingers venturing further back and tightening in Richie’s hair, his lips tingly and warm and wonderful.  Eddie sighs, opens up as Richie pushes his tongue inside, curls it over the roof of his mouth, hums as Richie’s body shifts over him and settles in the cradle of his hips.   

There’s no hurry to it.  As Richie touches Eddie’s jaw, runs the pads of his fingers over Eddie’s cheek and down his throat, Eddie sinks more and more.  This is something he hasn’t done in a long time- kissing _just_ to kiss.  At least, he thinks that’s what they’re doing.  It sure feels that way.  With the way Richie’s palm slides over his thigh, a touch that is only a touch, no squeezing or teasing, no fingers dipping between his legs to make him hard- it can’t be anything else.  And it’s nice, warm and comfortable and _good_.  And sure, maybe it would be relaxing too, if it wasn’t for his heart hammering away inside him, or the swell of _something_ in his chest, something big and full and terrifying.  And the quiet, content sounds Richie is making, little sighs that Eddie swallows and hoards, filing them away to think about later- it’s all too much.  His breath goes uneven as Richie mouths at his jaw, and he pulls back slightly, stares up into Richie’s hooded eyes, glances down at his red, abused lips, and he _aches_.   

Swallowing, Eddie tries to say something, something that might put things back into alignment, get this thing moving toward sex or getting off- but he can’t.  His voice gets caught in his throat, Richie’s blue-blue eyes drawing him in, deeper into whatever the fuck is happening right now.

Somehow Eddie whispers, “Rich?” but is cut off by “Bohemian Rhapsody” blaring from Richie’s pocket, the phone vibrating against the inside of his thigh, where Richie is still pressed up against him.   

Richie pulls the phone out and answers.  “Hello, hello?” he dips down as soon as the words are out of his mouth, kisses Eddie’s neck again, sucks a mark right under Eddie’s ear that makes Eddie squirm and gasp.  Then he pulls back, rolls his eyes dramatically toward the ceiling as he says, “Yeah.  Okay.  I’ll be right there.  Give me- what?  No.  Don’t touch it.  I’m coming.”   

Eddie is almost relieved when Richie crawls off him, but he misses the weight of Richie’s body instantly.  “Who was that?”   

“Pops,” Richie says, shoving his phone back in his pocket and sitting at the edge of the bed.  “Pipes busted in the basement and it’s getting flooded.  I gotta go help move shit out of the way before it all gets ruined.”   

“I can come help,” Eddie offers, starting to push himself up.  He loves Richie’s parents; they are two of the most supportive people he’s ever known, who encouraged him while growing up when his own mother never did.   

Richie places a hand on his chest, gently keeps him on his back.  “Nah, it’s okay.  There isn’t a lot of stuff.”  Then he bends down and cups Eddie’s face, says, “Relax.  Eat your soup,” close to his mouth, and presses a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips.   

Eddie sighs into it, grasps Richie’s shoulders and tells his fingers to let go.  “Okay,” he says when Richie pulls back, breathless and torn and very much needing to be alone.   

“I’ll be back later,” Richie tells him as he gets to his feet, then smiles over his shoulder as he disappears through the doorway.   

Silent, Eddie stares at the ceiling and listens to the front door open and close, his insides writhing, his mind and body a crazy mix of confusion and disbelief.  There are too many conflicting things inside him right now, so many that he can’t even… he just _can’t_.   

Getting to his feet, he heads to the kitchen to eat the soup Richie brought him, avoids thinking about anything as he drags himself into the living room and drops down on the couch.  He tries to lose himself to _Queer Eye,_ ignoring his brain as it makes circles around all the things he’s buried for the night, and ends up with another headache. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I really appreciate any and all feedback! It makes me smile and keeps me going!  
> I hope you guys like this one! There MIGHT be 5 chapters now, I'm not sure. For now I'm gonna still say there is one left!  
> You can say hi or whatever on tumblr @ [suspirica](https://suspirica.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Update: 2/2019:   
> Hi thank you for being patient!! I want you to know if you have come back to check on this or read again (which is very flattering thank you) I have not abandoned this work. I have not abandoned any of my fics. I'm still very much into the It fandom and Reddie. I've just got lots going on right now and I'm trying to finish my other wip IWMYH which is only one chapter from being complete! I will reply to comments soon thank you so much for all the love!! ♡♡

**Author's Note:**

> This is so different from anything I've ever written! Please let me know what you think! And you can visit me on tumblr @reddiepop if you want to say hello! Thank you for reading!


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